Thursday, April 2, 2009

Shame on the Shamrock

I know that writing about my relationship is a bit off limits on this blog.
1) this blog is not completely anonymous
2) P would not really appreciate it
But I just have to release some steam here, and I cannot bother poor little Lucy with it, now can I?

I’m developing hostile feelings towards Ireland.
There, I’ve said it. Nothing to do with the Irish people, god forbid. No Guinness to blame either. And Saint Patrick has done nothing wrong, as far as I know. It’s just that “Ireland” is becoming a synonym for “P out of reach in every way”:
- he’s not here physically – obvious, that one
- he is clearly with his mind somewhere else if I have him on the phone. I’ve only begun to tell him something or I hear the line “I have to wrap up this phone call in a few minutes, because I’m off to dinner/the next meeting/ the next conf call/…; I here him typing on his laptop while I’m talking; I notice that I get the same standard type-answers on everything I say :“how nice to hear that” or “hmmm-hmmm” (so he’s not listening to a word I say). Those 2 daily minutes I have him on the phone, I feel as if he’s intoxicated with some fumes from the chemical plant.
- On Saturday-mornings he manages to do something fun with me. The afternoon he’s already falling asleep on the couch. Sunday morning he does some sports, followed by more sleep. Sunday afternoon he’s already working again, and packing his bags for another week in Ireland.

And this will go on for two more months. I’m going crazy, really.
I mean: I know it’s really tough on him right now, I know he’s not getting a lot of sleep, I know he needs his mind 200% on his work. And I know he really tries to make an effort to call me, or to spend some quality time with me on weekends. But this is not easy. And honestly: we could really do with a little bit of “easy” after the MBA, all the moving, and everything else that happened last year.
I try to support him in every way I can, and I’m being so flexible that I could join Cirque du Soleil without a problem. But even I have my limits. And I guess I just boiled over tonight when I was once again told after one minute on the phone “that he had to go to dinner now”. Yes, I know: the man has to eat. Good point. Maybe I’m over-reacting.
Anyway, I’ve written it all down now, hopefully creating some sympathy for poor me, and I’m already feeling better. Can’t wait to see him again tomorrow evening!

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