An ordinary Sunday

Written by a 39 year old female University Lecturer from Manchester.

Written on September 12th 2010.

I woke up this morning once again to the pain in my knee. I lay in bed for a while, letting my mind wander. My partner was still fast asleep. He stirred eventually, and we chatted for a few minutes, and I switched on my mobile phone to check the time. Two minutes past 10am. Once I’m properly awake, I can’t lie in bed, so I got up to have a shower.

When I came back into the bedroom to get dressed, my partner opened his eyes and mumbled ‘I’m thinking of getting up before I fall asleep again’, but I knew by the look in his eyes that he would still sleep for a while. And so he did. Luckily I was prepared for this – he always sleeps longer than me, and although I have re-acquainted myself with the art of the lie-in since we’ve been together, in the early days I used to get annoyed with him sleeping til 11am, sometimes even 1pm. Now I guess I’m more used to it, and when I’m staying at his house, as I say, I come prepared.

So I grabbed my book and went downstairs. The cat was anxiously waiting behind the dividing door – we’ve stopped letting her upstairs for the night since she became a pest with her incessant rustling and pushing things off the top of the wardrobe when we were trying to fall asleep. Once she even brought a dead bird upstairs during the night. I think it was that occasion that broke the camel’s back so to speak – she’s been banned from the bedroom at night ever since. So now whoever goes downstairs first is met by her fervent meaowing as she demands to be fed. I opened a new tin of cat food and scooped some into her bowl. I then made myself poached eggs (another aspect of being prepared: bring breakfast – my partner rarely eats breakfast). I managed to break the yolk of one egg into the water, and had to scoop up bits of egg and try again with a new egg. When my eggs were ready, I hoped to pour the water out through a sieve that would have caught most of the remaining egg bits but I could not find one. I looked through all the cupboards twice, but no luck. (I later found the sieve – it had been in plain sight right in front of me, but because it was plastic and looked different from my metal sieve at home I had not noticed it). I ended up scooping as much of the egg bits out of the water with a slatted spoon, before pouring the rest down the sink.

By the time I’d done all of this and prepared coffee, my eggs were cold. But still delicious. I settled down on the couch by the window to read my book and drink my coffee. The cat, which usually insists on being given a fuss in the morning, was nowhere to be seen. I guessed it must have been upstairs, lying on top of my partner. I was washing up the pan in which I’d made the eggs when my partner came down in his dressing gown. Unusually for him, he made himself a bacon butty with brown sauce, and ate that watching tv while I carried on reading. In-between we chatted about this and that.

Although I was reading a work book, I decided not to get annoyed at the interruptions, because I had after all chosen to read a work book on Sunday! The tv was showing footage from yesterday’s 9/11 commemorations. It’s been nine years. I was living a different country, with another partner, when 9/11 happened. I remember opening the front door and my mother-in-law saying ‘Have you seen the news about the airplanes?!!’ in a shocked way. My partner at the time was in Italy for a conference, so I feared something had happened that might involve him. We put on the tv (I think we had CNN) and watched in horror as the second twin tower crashed to the ground. A week later we moved to England, and I am sure that the weirdness of those events coloured my first impressions of my new home country. With air travel being under threat (or so we thought – there was talk of airlines going bust and air travel becoming prohibitively expensive) it seemed a bit foolish to be moving so far away. I was visiting my old home country this April when the Icelandic ash cloud disrupted air travel and was stranded there for a while. Once again it felt as though international air travel seemed an impossibility. But how quickly we bounce back from these times of crisis into thinking that things can go on indefinitely in their usual way.

As we watched the commemorations and interviews with bereaved families 9 years on, my partner commented on how a year ago, when he came to my old home country to visit my family, he had not been at all impressed by all the various security measures. He mentioned not being able to buy a bottle of water at WHSmith at the airport without showing his ticket, or not being allowed to bring liquids through security. He, as so many people, feels that many of these measures are over-the-top and detract from the pleasure of travel. My view is different – security measures have become increasingly tight ever since I first flew in the 1970s, so in one sense there is nothing new under the sun. And I can see the point of these measures – perhaps they do help keep travellers safe. For example, is it a coincidence that it has been a long time since a plane was hijacked? We then discussed how difficult it would be to ensure the safety of a train travelling through Europe – whereas an airport is a bounded entity, as is the airplane, a train passes through countryside and stops at many train stations. Impossible to keep safe! Indeed we wondered how come so few trains are blown up. The only case I can think of is London in 2005 (another day of commemoration we had recently) and Madrid after that.

The news today was that the government has decided to sell of Royal Mail. Why? Because privatisation has worked so well in the past? Hah! We were both horrified at this. I still feel sick to my stomach at the thought of what the Tories are doing to this country: slashing the public sector, cutting welfare (which is not that great in this country to begin with), aiming to privatise as much as they can. I have just recently read a book describing the devastating effects that the loss of public services has had on American ghettos, so I feel even more pessimistic about the future of this country if the Tories stay in power for a long period of time. 'Britain is open for business' indeed -- open wide for shady businessmen like the ones my partner has worked for in the past, who care not a jot for their employees, and who drive down companies in order to strip them of their assets before liquidating them. And the employees can go to hell with their demands of being paid every month. This really makes me angry. Angry enough that I intend to focus on sucy inequalities more in my work in the future.

Somehow we then went on to another topic that seems to vex my partner – speed cameras. Again, our views on them are completely opposite. Whereas I think that speed limits are there for a reason, and quite clearly have to be policed in some way, my partner thinks they’re just a money-making scam. I have a feeling we’ll be having this discussion until the end of time, but in many ways I feel this discussion also mirrors our different cultural takes on things – mine rule-abiding, his an English disdain for authority. I wanted to get back home where I could read in peace, and my partner wanted to be back at his by 4pm for the football, so around 12 he drove me to the nearest big Tesco. Since my herniated disc about a month and a half ago, I’ve been unable to do such simple tasks as shopping. I’m getting better – I can now at least walk for 20 minutes without excruciating pain, though the sciatic nerve is still firing off, especially in my knee. But carrying stuff home from the shops is still difficult. So my partner has been doing the majority of my shopping for me. At least today I could go with him. The last time I went to the big Tesco with him was about a month ago, before my dad came to stay for a week. I’d barely got half-way through the shop when I thought my back would literally snap from the strain. I was in tears by the time we got to the tills, and had to have a seat while my partner went to get the car to pick me up by the front door. You’d think I was 70 – I’m in fact only a few weeks shy of 40!

So anyway, this visit to Tesco was much more pleasant, and I stocked up on various things. One aim was to stock up on lots of necessities and get as many triple points as possible on my Tesco card. Queuing at the tills, I thanked my partner for driving me here, saying I would have to spend £5 per delivery were Tesco to deliver these items home to me. He remarked that I might have bought £5 less online – apparently people do more impulse-buys in the shop. My partner drove me home and helped carry the shopping up to my flat. I gave him a few things to take back to his – shampoo and dishwashing liquid. Three for two deals – very good for couples who live apart! In the shop, we had had a discussion about olive oil while I was picking out a bottle of the said stuff. I was eyeing a bottle of Italian unfiltered olive oil, and my partner commented that this was unhealthier than the clearer stuff. He compared it to engine oil – the murkier the oil, the less efficient it is and the worse it is for the engine. At first I argued against this, saying that oil that we eat is different from oil you put in a car, but at home we went through this again. By now he was talking about long and short molecules, whereas I have no actual knowledge on the subject, just an inborn wish to know best. We laughed as I said that for once I would actually believe him without a fight, and I made a comment along the lines of ‘look at me, almost 40 and still having the capacity to change’.

It was one of those days where the sun shines for ten minutes, then it chucks down with rain, followed by blue sky, followed by rain, etc. The sun was shining when my partner left, so I grabbed my chance and went out for a walk, listening to a Fused Forces radio show mix on my MP3 player that my friend had downloaded for me. I managed about 20 minutes, came home, had a lie down to rest my back with an ice-pack, and then prepared lunch. Salad and rye bread. I ate watching tv. Since my back has been bad, my concentration has suffered, so I tend to work for a bit, watch some crap tv (Friends, Samantha Who?, even a bit of Brothers and Sisters, though I rarely manage to get through a whole episode of this), then work a bit more, then a bit more tv. And every day I thank my lucky stars that I am an academic, and that I am on sabbatical right now, which means that I can stay at home every day if need be, and I can pace my work as I wish. I texted my friend to let her know that I was back in the city, fired up my laptop and started writing notes on a book I had read last week.

My friend called to say that she would come round in a bit. When she got to mine, we went out for a walk, something we usually do. Though this time the walk was much shorter than usual. We often meet up on a Sunday and walk aimlessly through the city centre, stopping for a coffee or a drink on the way. Many a Sunday we’ve spent like this, enjoying our city and each other’s company. Because of my back, I’ve not done much or seen many people the past month, so I feel a bit flat and down. As a result, my friend did most of the talking. She always has some drama going on in her life. I feel positively boring compared to her! I’ve been in a relationship for the past two years now, and this has reduced my social life although I swore it would not. On the evenings that I do not see my partner, I quite enjoy sitting at home on my own. Having lived alone for the past five and a half years, I have come to treasure solitude and I gain strength from it. In comparison, my friend is a born social networker who can think of nothing worse than staying in on her own. And when she is at home, she is constantly on the phone, or Skyping, or MSNing, or on Facebook, Twitter, MySpace. Constantly communicating with others. So of course she has many more interesting stories to tell than I do. I feel that the past year I’ve been working so hard that I have nothing really of interest to say to anyone who is not in my profession. Luckily my partner is not an academic, otherwise I’d become a real boring bastard!

We talked mainly about my friend’s problems with her mother. With my birthday nearing, and it being around this time that I last saw my mother alive 4 years ago, I can feel that old tug of sadness and grief that always returns for my birthday. But I didn’t even feel like sharing this with my friend. I think I’m mildly depressed – I can tell by my increased sense of insularity and a mental or emotional weariness that stops me from sharing my inner world with people. While my friend was here, I washed by hand a jumper that I bought in 1997 in the US where I spent a year as a PhD student. It is now the jumper I wear at my partner’s, and I did wonder when I was washing it whether it was time to let it go. It is not a jumper I would buy now – long and not at all sexy, plus whenever I put it on I feel as though I’m going back in time, not necessarily in a positive way. I’m going back to a time when I was not too confident about my body, when I was in a marriage that lacked a sexual spark. I am now with a partner whom I find sexually attractive, and yet our sex life has waned. Is this just what happens to all couples over time? Partly this is due to his redundancy in April and the insecurity of being a freelancer now, partly the reason is my back pain. But sex has been a sticking point in our relationship from quite early on. At least now I voice my unhappiness and there is a communication channel open between us. I was thinking about these things as my friend was talking about her own marriage years ago that was sexless, and a friend of hers who is not getting enough sex.

My friend often says of such men ‘they’re a waste of time and of one’s bed’, but I do not want to think like this about my partner. Surely long-term, there are bound to be peaks and troughs? But is our waning sex life a sign of something deeper wrong in our relationship, or just a sign of other troubles in our lives? Who can tell?! Relationships are never perfect, but how can one tell whether it is good enough, or whether it will be good enough one day? I find myself thinking along these lines a lot more during my second long-term relationship – in my first long-term relationship I just accepted that ‘this is it, make the most of it’. But once that ended, I seem to have lost my ability to just take a relationship’s continued existence as given. And again, I am not sure whether this is a good or a bad thing. But surely this time round this feels like a more ‘real’ relationship – I am not invested in the idea that this is the ‘perfect’ relationship where any sign of disharmony lessens its perfection. In my current relationship I have broken many past patterns of silencing myself or of wanting him to prop me up somehow. This means that my current relationship is probably more realistic and less idealistic, but also proceeds less smoothly. This was another train of thought I kept to myself while my friend was talking.

My friend left at around 7.30pm, and I prepared myself a carrot salad with black mustard seeds, cut up some raw cauliflower to dip into houmous, and took the skin off a grilled mackerel. My back pain has been a wake up call for me in terms of my eating habits. I’m a fairly healthy person – I exercise regularly and I do not eat as much crap as the average Brit does. But I so want to avoid having to go through another herniated disc, that I have begun eating even more healthily. The other thing I need to watch is my attitude towards work. I have a tendency towards workaholism, which became rampant last semester. From the end of April til about mid July I worked most weekends, on top of my 10-12 hour days during the week. Plus I have a tendency to be a perfectionist and to stress about things too much. One pissy email from a student can lead me to seeing red and wanting to have at least an inner rant about it. I want to find a less stressful, and a more healthy way, of working. This is easy now during my sabbatical when I can happily avoid emails and meetings, and focus on my own research, but come the spring semester when I start teaching again I’ll want to really watch myself so that I do no repeat what I did this year.

I am sure that my overworking is at least partially the cause behind my herniated disc. Especially as most of the 10-12 hours of work are spent sitting in front of a computer, where I can easily sit for hours without a break. I’ve written this diary in one go, without getting up a single time to stretch my legs! That shows you how well I’ve learnt my lesson... So, I ate my dinner and spent the rest of the evening watching tv. I watched the end of an episode of Glee (I’m sorry, I don’t care how cool the show is, and how great it is to have a lesbian character there, but I just can’t get past the sugary sentimentality and the awful music), followed by a sentimental documentary about the last years of Diana’s life (looks like my new habit of watching rubbish on tv extends itself to the evenings) and a documentary about a young man who had been severely brain damaged after falling off a 20 foot wall. At about 11.20pm I went to bed, and after some tossing and turning I managed to find a position where my knee hurt the least and fell asleep.