I also threw away my cigarettes. I don't want to become a smoker again. It's not worth it.
Today I know that Marco will not be back until quite late, since he has a work function to attend in the evening. I do several loads of laundry. I write letters. I go to the hippie shack in the late morning to get some good ingredients. I visit Camden Market for the first time since I've moved here. I browse the stalls, making mental notes about the various wares and their prices. I go to The Black Rose and Cyberdog and take my time trying on various outfits. I make a few satisfying (and economical!) purchases.
I spend the rest of the afternoon making tasty meals for myself. By the time I turn in, at around 10:30 pm, I feel warm, full and virtuous about my accomplishments.
The happy feelings vanish when I wake up at 2:41 am and there is no one in the bed with me. Despite the foreknowledge that he was going to be home late, I am worried and can't go back to sleep. The tube stops running shortly after midnight and the buses run limited routes and become infrequent. I know that he is a fairly responsible person, but he never used to drink to the point of being drunk, and now he sometimes does. Envisioning horrible fates, I send him an anxious text message. He messages back saying that he's trying to get a cab. Then he calls and tells me that he's been busy helping handle work drama, as somebody took a swing at somebody else and some girl was so drunk she had to be carried to a taxi. I am angered because it seems to me that he's excessively concerned about everyone except me. How did he expect me to feel, waking up that late and not finding him? He could have at least sent me a text message, just in case I woke up. It would have taken all of two seconds. He does not arrive home until nearly 4 am. He stinks of nightclub and alcohol, which does not help the situation. We have a fight. Sort of. Mostly I sit stonily while he talks at me, trying to explain and apologize. We go to bed. I don't sleep. I move to the couch. He comes out to talk to me. We return to bed. I don't feel particularly forgiving, but I am also too exhausted to remain in a state of anger. Despite feeling conflicted about the situation – I feel he failed to prioritize correctly his concerns about the welfare of others, but am no longer certain that that is truly the only cause for my reaction – I just want to wrap my arms around him and go to sleep. Which is what we do.