Yesterday I had written a longish post. But it just didn’t feel right. And I don’t want to turn this blog into some sort of painful car crash thing. And, anyway, that’s not really me. Well, that’s not quite true, it is a part of me but I constantly fight against those crap thoughts and do my very best to find positive things.

I went to see a flat the other night. Newly restored (still wip), it will have all new appliances (better than the current flat, for certain), new floors, newly painted walls and it is only partly furnished so some of my prized pieces of furniture can come with me.

The lady (landlady) was lovely and I think it would work. Just a little further out than I would like but you can’t have everything, I suppose. Still, it’s quite a nice residential area of Milan. I know the area a bit and it’s close to other friends which will be nice. It has some things that are not important but nice like automatic shutters (and it’s on the first floor so they will have to be shut when I am out).

There’s another one, cheaper and bigger, on the fourth floor, but no lift. I wonder how annoying that will become. What will it be like when Rufus finds it difficult to walk up and down the stairs? When I’ve a glass of wine too many? When my knee is hurting? On the plus side, it has a terrace! And it’s coming up to summer. Sipping a beer there on a warm summer evening might be worth the four flights of stairs, maybe?

Let’s look at it first.

A final note is that we are communicating. By email. This is, at the same time, good and bad. The good part is, I would hope, obvious. The bad part is that I could, quite easily, just fall back into the thing without resolving the fundamental issues which, in the long term, would prove fatal. But time is short. However, at least we are friends and it is not turning ugly.

So, there you are. Someone does something that, in itself, is not so bad or so terrible or so hurtful. You have been relied upon for so many years to do something and then, because things are a little strained and they won’t ask for help, they go and do it themselves or, find someone else to do it.

And you don’t know until it has been done.

And it’s a shock because you didn’t realise that they were going to do that. And, maybe, a little angry. And, probably, somewhat hurt that they had done it and you would have been quite happy to do it.

Or maybe you wanted to be asked, even if you would have said ‘no’ or made it for some time that was going to be impossible for the other person. But you wanted that chance to say ‘no’ or make it difficult. And they have taken that away from you.

And you look at the result and you’re not impressed. You know that you would have done a far better job as you know the person and you know what they like.

The trouble is that, for whatever of the reasons that you wanted to be asked – to say ‘no’ or because you would have done it willingly and wanted to – it’s difficult to keep your voice and face from expressing some emotion and, thereby, letting the person know that they have ‘got one over on you’.

It’s another little cut. Each one is nothing. Even a hundred is nothing. But a thousand? With each you bleed a little more. After a thousand you are dead and, in the meantime, the death is agonisingly slow and painful.

Of course, it may be that they weren’t trying to do anything. Maybe they were just trying to make it easier. Maybe they had to do it as you had gone out and they didn’t know when they would see you again for this to be done?

Have you counted the cuts yet? Is it near a thousand? Wouldn’t it be better if they just made one fatal slash? Then it would be over and the pain would go away and you would be free of this life.

Oh, yes, and this is both of you in both situations. It’s not just the one side, of course. Intentional or not intentional – the result is the same.

And, if you’re on the receiving end, it hardens the heart a little more. It makes you more stubborn and I’m already as stubborn as they come.

Whilst, if you’re giving the small cut, it has two feelings. There is a feeling of giving back what you get. A small victory in this war of small attacks. In a war that, surely, is far too important to be taken so lightly. In a war that, in the end, gives no winner.

he other feeling is one of sorrow. That something was taken to be something it was not; that you couldn’t see that the thing would have been seen as such a bad thing. But, then, you knew really; it was pride that meant you could not ask; pride and stubbornness; pride, stubbornness and the desire to have at least one thing that you could “show” you didn’t need the other person for.

So, locked in your silences this is all you have to show – this demonstration of independence and strength.

Meanwhile, the bleeding continues……….