There was a discussion with my girlfriend and I, wherein I was somewhat cornered into agreeing to some goals and making a few concessions, basically on the understanding that if these weren’t done within a month she’d break up with me (she calls it spending some time apart but knowing what state I’d be in after that rejection she would not be wanting to take me back anytime soon). Two weeks later she informed me that I was not living up to my end of the deal (which she prefers not to call a deal, or an arrangement, I’m not sure exactly what it was, an ultimatum?) and this set off the old gamble fuse, when it starts burning you know you’re about to gamble, maybe in a few hours or maybe in two or three days at the outside if you’re able to distract yourself. I reasoned to myself that if she was still going to leave me regardless of whether I was gambling or not (as I hadn’t in those two weeks) then hell, I may as well gamble, right?
So I gambled, I lost an undisclosed amount (it’s pointless trying to take some strange kind of pride in the amount you’ve lost because there’s always someone out there losing more) and then stayed in bed for four or five days, deeply depressed.
The outcome was of course another agreement, or deal, or whatever you like to call it.
This time I need to see a councillor once a week and write in this book once a day, since I’ve been feeling nauseated and lethargic (such a better word than lazy!) all day I thought I’d wriggle out of today’s memoire by simply writing about why I’m writing.
Which is what I just did.
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