My man is wise beyond his years. I read Angry Ricky earlier, and there was a passage I it and I quote: PA’s Mike and C’s Mark would be sympathizing with each other over the trials of being the partners of people who write blogs.I write a lot about Mark here on my blog, mostly positive, but sometimes not.
Since we’re basically honest with each other, about negatives and positives, I offered him a chance to read the blog. I asked him point blank if he wanted to, and he said no. “It’s like them journal things of yours, innit?”
He did ask to read my journals once, around day five of our relationship, but I said no then. There are things in those that I’m not too proud of. They don’t always show me in a positive light. Particularly not the earlier ones with all the ink drawings of big penises and stabbed hearts and mutilated bodies of my enemies.
He’s aware that I write this blog, as he’s been aware of me writing other stuff about us elsewhere online, but he’s never expressed any interest in following it. I think once he commented on something I’d written elsewhere, because I asked him to. But other than that, he gives me remarkably free reign.
“Maybe you need to whinge sometimes,” he says. So, he’s wise beyond his years, and I love him so much for it. Well, apart from having him walk around half-naked in the house at the moment after his shower.
The day hasn’t been entirely positive. I had a view into Ben’s family life. He never does speak about his family much, and that’s because his dad is a periodic drinker that started to binge today when I was over at Ben’s house.
When I was over there Ben suddenly tensed up about midway through the visit, and soon enough his dad came over and wanted to be social with us boys, and listen to our music, and be “with the lads”. Except he stank booze. Ben went totally rigid, and only relaxed when I offered to go. He demanded a promise that I wouldn’t tell anyone, which was an easy promise to make. But now I feel sorry for Ben.
Ben has become such a good friend. I’ve not had a friend before that share my interests like Ben does. Apart from the fact that Ben can drop verse like he drops socks, and apart from the fact that I need to spend some time thinking about what I want to say, we’re thus quite similar.
Minus the alcoholic parents and the fact that he weighs over 200 pounds and plays Rugby and I weigh just about 140 pounds and play the guitar. Ben is a much better writer than I am, I think, in that he has an innate ability to write immediately, while I need to think through things. Don’t tell him that I said that though. I still aim to win a carton of beer at the end of next year off him.
Mark had made dinner for me when I came home, so I had the chance to break the promise to Ben immediately – but I tell Mark everything. Neither of us really know what can be done about Ben. Neither of us really know if anything can be done. It makes my blood boil that he has to go through that.
Auntie came over for dinner today, since the Sunday dinners seem to have stopped now. We called her, and she agreed immediately, and was here half an hour later.
She did interrogate us about the girl downstairs – if she gave us any problems. Truth of the matter is that we hardly see her. She spends most of her time in the flat, except for when she decides to get some colour in the garden, but even then she just plops down there and plugs her earphones in and don’t talk to us. Other than that, we hardly hear a peep from her.
She’s in her mid twenties, I guess, and having to live with “two kids” upstairs is probably why. What could we possibly have in common? Me and Mark can’t visit a pub without adult supervision, after all.
Since Auntie came over, Mark put some extra effort into the dinner, so now I feel stuffed and sated, and while I should go and do the dishes I just sit here writing this instead.
Which is hard to do with a half-naked man mucking about looking for clean socks. But it’s his turn to do the laundry now, and that’s that. He’s not worked today, so he could have done it – but did he? No…
Look at me complaining about the laundry when I have to steel myself to even think about the dishes. I better go do them in order to have the moral high ground when I point and laugh at Mark and the laundry.