Yesterday started so well. My daughter and I took the short ferry across the water to the spa and spent day swimming outdoors, doing laps in the pool and watching the wild west coast seas from the heat of the sauna. I love spending time with her. She’s a part-time lifeguard now, saving her money for her theatre training which begins in September this year. I was a lifeguard too when I was studying, as was my own mother and brother, and she seems to love this sense of shared experience. The family legacy. Pool lifeguarding to pay your way through education. Ha! The family fables of the hoi polloi!

We got some lunch at the marina and made our way home, collecting two large pieces of cake to enjoy at home. She watched the television whilst I made some soup for dinner. She blethered and gossiped about her latest tv obsession, Greys Anatomy, played with our dog and I drank it in. I love every moment like this with her. She doesn’t understand but I imagine most mother’s would get it. She’ll be 18 in August, and away from home in September. Our relationship is strong, she’s becoming a responsible young woman and I’m starting to let her go. And it makes me FEEL. I feel so proud of her, and I feel sad because I’m going to miss her dreadfully. I feel grateful that I have so many of these moments with her and I feel pain that I didn’t have them with my son. It was a beautiful day.

The evening was not. I spent most of the evening bickering with my husband and ended the evening on my own in the spare room. There’s some resentment between us and last night it manifested in a stupid row about the number of cars being parked in our garden. I want them shifted. He thinks I’m ridiculous for being bothered by the ever growing fleet of vehicles abandoned in our yard. Big potatoes eh? But this is how it goes I suppose.

We both hold resentment. I resent him for not being there for me when the shit hit the fan with my son last summer. He resents me for falling apart when the shit hit the fan last summer. Neither one of us has actually done anything wrong. We both did the best we could at the time. Yet the insidious tendrils of addiction have wound their way through our marriage and we’re having a tough time tearing them loose. It’s just occurred to me that I should probably say that very thing to my husband instead of quarrelling with him about cars on the drive.

I actually started writing this morning with the intention of releasing relentless fury to the page. This process of blogging, retro as it is, definitely has its benefits. It slows me down. I have to think, write, think some more and write. A bit like doing a jigsaw puzzle. Put some pieces together, try some other pieces, get it wrong, and move them around to find the right place.

I have a bridge to build today. Wish me luck!