Happy Fucking Birthday

Yesterday was Tom’s birthday. I woke up vomiting and with a high temperature so had to ask him to take the day off work to look after Annie. I also had to cancel the dinner plans I’d made so he had a bit of a crappy birthday although he says he didn’t at all and that actually it was nice to spend the time with Annie. In the evening he asked if I could manage to watch the kids so he could go to the pub. I knew it wouldn’t be that easy as I was still being sick but didn’t want his birthday to be totally ruined, so I agreed to him going.

I woke today and although I’d stopped being sick I still felt weak and dizzy with occasional hot sweats. It was my 35th birthday today and I had to cancel my friends coming over tonight which I’m completely gutted about but I’m just too ill. I went to Sainsbury’s for a few essentials and felt so weak and faint. Annie spent the day pulling every book out of the bookcase and crushing skips into the carpet and I had a phone call from Danny to tell me that his Dad died this morning so tonight when Josh gets home I have to tell him his granddad has died. 

Tom went on his works Christmas ‘party’ at 1pm. He said he’d have the lunch and would be home around 4pm. He rang at 5pm and said he’d ‘got the goo on him’ and was on his way into town to go to the pub. I asked who with and he said on his own, that he felt like having a few pints. I told him that I felt ill and really weak, could do with a hand with the kids and that it would be nice to spend a little bit of my birthday with him but he refused, he said he knew I’d do this, that I was selfish, only ever thought of myself and then he slammed the phone down on me. I put my pyjamas on, watched The Snowman with the kids and then cried myself to sleep. Happy fucking birthday to me.

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