Oh God, Sunday night was awful. It was that 'we need to set a time scale' conversation. I don't want to set a time scale - I don't want this. A lot of tears, a lot of Bourbon consumed, very little sleep.
The financial implications keep haunting me.
And then I sit and look at what we have. It's not the big things - but the pictures, the objects, the things bought with (what I thought was) love. Neither of us will be able to afford a place where all these can be cherished. And I hate the idea of consigning them to the rubbish. Yet I know that when I die, no one will want to have to sift through them.
It is all so hard. I am tired, and weary, and worn out with tears.
But its worse for him. He doesn't cope with so little sleep, he isn't eating properly, his job is stressful (I wonder how much that precipitated all this....) and I worry about him. And he doesn't want me to worry about him. And yet I worry that his mental health is getting fragile.
I want a magic wand. I so want a magic wand......
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