I don't respond well to threats.
I will occasionally run away, or more likely, particularly if I'm drunk, become suicidally aggressive (just ask anyone who attended my stag night). Either way, the threat rarely has the desired effect.
I am at a loss to explain why my wife of eight years hasn't yet grasped this. Over the last 6 months, she should also have realised that I respond even less well to abusive phonecalls in the middle of the night.
Up until last week, these oral tirades would be on a Friday or Saturday night at around 2am, when I was still awake. Then on Thursday morning (2am) she awoke me from my slumbers for yet another unproductive argument. Hence my lateness for work on Friday. There has been another paradigm shift. I used to be able to expect a lull of one to two weeks between these disturbances, but last night, she called at midnight to say "Why are you such a f***ing t***?"
I hung up at that. If I wanted abuse, I wouldn't have split up with her.
She called back. "I'm moving back in, so move out or I'll make your life a misery!" Faced with this double whammy of irritations as I was, I was disinclined to acquiesce to her suggestion.
A lengthy argument followed, until she yelled "I just want some f***ing peace!" so I hung up again. She called back a few moments later, so I told her, "you said you wanted peace," and hung up again. She called again, I rejected the call on my mobile, and turned it off. So she called the house phone. "You can't turn this one off!" she bayed. I hung up. She called back.
It is at times like these that you wonder how the hell you managed to lumber yourself with a psychotic for a wife.
This time I told her I was making a note of the times and contents of her calls, as added ammunition when I divorce her for unreasonable behaviour, and hung up again.
She called again, this time in tears.
As I've said, threats and abusive calls cut no ice with me. Waterworks, however turn me into a complete mug. My chivalry processes kick in, and I become The Protector, damp shouldered hug machine. She knows this, and inevitably falls back on this when all else fails.
So I told her I'd see if I could arrange moving out for a week or so. I suspect I won't be able to, largely due to my parents (my only means of transport at the moment) being likely to say "To hell with that! You're not going anywhere until that house is sold!"
They have a point, too. She's unstable enough to try most things...
She infuriates me. It's my own fault for marrying her, I know. This annoyance I feel becomes all-consuming, like an unscratchable itch, and seriously impairs my concentration. This, I suspect, is the cause of my accidents, and my absent-mindedness.
I left my rucksack on the train today. Of course, I didn't realise this until I was boarding the second train, by which time my rucksack was taking a free trip to Manchester Airport (Incidentally, I left my gloves on the train on Friday, after the row on Thursday).
It's almost as if my subconscious mind is trying to erase her, but is as accurate as I am with a bowling ball. I think this memory failure may have been a contributory factor in the break up, but I can't remember. I can however, remember most details of most movies I have ever seen.
Luckily I only arrived at work an hour and a half late. The gloomily expected tsunami, volcano and meteor strike failed to materialise.
At least I have my rucksack back. I need to stare blankly at the blank application form, willing it to fill itself in...
