Charles fell off the bike today
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Been a mixed stretch of days.
Midnight as Sunday began I awoke to feel - hmmm, I don't approve of the word depressed - it has become a cliché of commercials advertising pharmaceuticals and shrinks offering worthless therapies - I'll say my mood dropped to plain miserable.
Not that there was a change. And the lack of change was the problem. I've told Charles clearly that certain conditions have to be met if we are to continue sharing our lives. So I transitions to that damned annoying state where you don't want to move. Walking across the shop to fetch a book seemed like a wearying hateful chore.
The mood remained me, steadfast like an unwanted old friend through this morning. Then Charles went out for a bicycle ride. He fell off and hit if face. When he came home with blood on his face all feelings of resentment fell away. What an evil man I'd be if I weren't there to bring him something to drink, fresh dampened towels, whatever he wanted.
Charles who knows more about these things (nurse's training) than I do said there was no reason for him to go to the hospital (and I didn't when an obstruction threw me from my bike and I banged my forehead forcibly enough to split the skin and leave me smothered in blood).
Still he hurts. How badly it is hard to say. The danger in feeling pain with demanding eloquence as Charles so often has is that it becomes hard to distinguish one moan from another. As always I'm vulnerable before vulnerability. It is my weakness.
Part of me resents his injury. Not him. This suspends progress in discovering where our life together can go. Possibly nowhere. Time is running out. In not much more than a month I'll be deciding whether there's enough here to keep me or too little to justifying my staying.