Elise Returns

It's been pretty crazy.

The first two weeks were spent in a slump of depression. I mean actual depression.

Sister came to stay and we did nothing but lounge around in our pajamas staring into space. Occasionally one of us would speak.

"He doesn't know where the Lenor goes. How is he going to do his laundry? Should I call him? I should. I'm going to call him."

She didn't call. And I never answered her.

I was listening.

Subconsciously.

"How can the doctors say "it's just one of those things" and "it's nature's way"? What kind of bullshit answer is that? Their supposed to be scientists, but when it comes to something that they don't know it becomes "nature's way". What the fuck?!"

It worked both ways. She never answered. And in all honesty I don't think she was even listening.

But I needed her there. Just like she needed me.

Then of course Solicitor lost it with the both of us. Over a bowl of dry pasta and frozen garlic bread.

It wasn't the fact that I'd over boiled the pasta and completely forgot to cook some sauce. It wasn't even the fact that Sister forgot to switch the oven on to cook the pathetic roll of garlic bread. It was the fact that we'd spent over two hours preparing the meal.

Solicitor, like most men when they get back from work, was hungry. He was tired and slightly moody. He'd reached for a menu and I'd felt the first stirrings of guilt. I insisted that I'd cook. Sister numbly got up from the sofa to help.

Two hours later Solicitor stared at the breakfast bar and completely flipped out. Sister cried. For the first time in weeks. I sobbed my heart out. For the first time in weeks. Solicitor told us both that he'd book us both for an appointment if we didn't sort ourselves out.

British people don't go to doctors for those kind of problems. There's nothing ever wrong with us. Complain? Yes. Admit that it's affecting us? No way! We don't do psychological traumas. We don't have them.

So the next day Sister moved back home. Nephew missed her terribly and moving home got her back into a routine.

I signed up with an agency and began temping.

Temping is an odd world. Honestly, people assume that you're pretty thick if you're a temp.

"Can you staple these two documents together? Please make sure the pages are in order. It makes sense when they're in order."

You don't say!

It keeps me busy. And I meet new people.

I've started planning my wedding. Sometimes flower arrangements are so fascinating. Other times I toss the wedding magazines aside with zero interest and tell Solicitor that I think it would be better if we just eloped.

The last time I said that he actually scared me a little. He told me that he'd looked into a Vegas wedding at he'd really love to do the Elvis thing. I must have looked so shocked and freaked out that he laughed at me and handed me the new bride gown catalogue that I ordered. I haven't complained much since then...