The garden cancer has been poisoned, and the backyard trees have been slaughtered. The shower screen's finally installed. I've almost finished the work of booking Albert's flights, trains, hotels and a car. Even the lingering lung disease seems to be tailing off.
You'd think I might have earned the right to be left alone, but no! Last night I had to go to the theatre on a free ticket, chauffeured by the cellmate. It came after a whole day at work, including 4 hours with the annoying yet charming client. Before and after the play I behaved worse than a child, whingeing, belittling the cellmate in public, arguing boorishly with her friends, sneering and harrumphing. Sitting in the audience before the start, I was wearing headphones to block out the worst of the chatter. When one of our group asked if I'd be taking the 'phones off later, I shouted (because of the headphones) "yes, when everyone shuts the eff up". Someone should really have taken me aside and offered to punch me. If only I was a social drunk, like normal people, I would be able to stand these occasions.
Now that the old dear's dead, I'm turning into her. For most of my life I was nicety nice, but now I seem to be discovering my inner #%!#. It's all balancing up, but I wonder if I'll live long enough to achieve full balance.
PS the play was by Eugene O'Neill, Strange Interlude.