Ode to My Other Half


Seemingly, 2016 has been a universally horrible year. I’ve been trying to see if I can salvage any good memories from the last 365 days, and it’s proving a struggle. All I could really come up with was ‘The Olympics’ – I enjoyed that. Oh, and Andy Murray won Wimbledon again. So I guess there were a few sporting achievements – some personal ones too. I published a book in 2016, I suppose. But that’s no biggie because I published one in 2015 as well. And unless I get hit by a bolt of lightening, I’ll be publishing one in 2017 too. I’m nearly finished, but it’s taken me much longer than I’d hoped because I found time-management difficult. And I don’t much feel like patting myself on the back for that. So what I thought I’d do instead of looking back at my year, is celebrate the one constant of 2016. The one constant of every year, really, but doesn’t get enough credit.

I don’t talk about my husband a great deal in this blog, unless it’s to take the piss about one of his weird idiosyncrasies. I think of this blog as an introvert’s way of being an extrovert. It’s my decision to discuss the things I do, so I mainly leave my husband out of it. He can start his own blog if he feels like airing his deepest, darkest thoughts hidden in the murky recesses of his mind. It’s a bit like the way a celeb wouldn’t discuss their family in interviews because they didn’t choose a life of celebrity. Except that I’m not a celeb and Time Magazine isn’t interested in interviewing me. Which never ceases to amaze me. But this post is about redressing that imbalance. Because my husband is, whether he likes it or not, an extension of me.

I more than alluded to this in a recent post, but this year hasn’t been a great one for me. And not just because tonnes of celebrities who shaped my childhood have sadly passed away. It’s been a difficult year on a personal level too. Oddly enough, the last person I wanted to tell that I was struggling this year was my husband. I don’t know why. An admission of weakness, maybe? But it got to the point where I felt I had to confess. And I’m so glad I did. He had noticed, of course. I’d been particularly short-tempered and had withdrawn myself deeper into the Internet world (who, moi?). So it was a relief to discuss the reasons behind it. And an even bigger relief to find him so understanding. I don’t know why I thought he wouldn’t be. I think the trouble with us medical professionals is, we are happy to sort out other people’s problems, but we don’t like to allow ourselves to have any of our own. Anyway, my husband has been great, and a problem shared kind of is a problem halved.

So, to my other half: I know I’m not the easiest person to live with. I’m a bit of a cold fish, sometimes. I believe public displays of affection have their time and place. But neither of us are particularly touchy-feely, so that’s cool, right? But never forget that I do love you. You were the first and last person I was capable of loving in that way. And remember – COLD FISH – so that’s quite an achievement for you. Well done. We’ve had some great times, and we’ve had some hard times. But we always seem to weather the storm. I’m sorry if I’ve been a bit distant; my head constantly buried in a laptop or a smartphone. It’s my escape, you see. I’m sorry I didn’t come to you sooner when I was finding things tough; I ought to have known you’d understand. If I don’t tell you I love you enough, it doesn’t mean I don’t. I’m just…difficult. But you’ve had eighteen years to get used to that.

Anyway, as shockingly crappy as 2016 has been, it has made me realise how much I appreciate him. He may collect one too many pieces of vinyl, spends every Sunday flinging a circular piece of plastic around a field (Frisbee-golf, don’t get me started), and his robot collection is becoming a bit of a cause for concern, but we all have our foibles, right? Not everyone could put up with him. Not everyone could put up with me. Most people wouldn’t. He may be a bit of a weirdo, but he’s my weirdo. And I thank him for being my constant in 2016. Just like he has been every other year, he’s my rock. Not a boring rock – more like a geode, all sparkly and stuff.

PS: Happy New Year, friends! Thanks for always being there. May 2017 be better than 2016. It can’t possibly be worse…

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24 thoughts on “Ode to My Other Half

  1. Can I be the first to like this? What a lovely ode. And because I know him a little bit, I believe every word.
    Here’s hoping 2017 is the complete flip side of 2016 for you Adele and in the words of George ‘ya gotta have faith’ 🎸

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Ah… snap!
    What a wonderful ode to your husband! Except for not having one to serenade, I get you totally. It’s been a crappy year for me too. I escape into music and books – my two constants.
    Have a great 2017, Adele!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Adele- what a terrific ode to your better half! From someone who understands your struggles, I hope 2017 brings you inner peace. I can’t offer advice because everyone’s path is different. I will offer you encouragement. May this year be kinder, gentler & more forgiving for you. You could use the break. Take care & I will see you on the flip flop! So glad we met last year!

    Liked by 1 person

  4. I’ve kind of been on the quiet side in the blogging world of recent, as you know, life has a way of running after me and stealing my energy and time (!), but actually that’s a poor excuse, somewhere in there I probably could have made more time, but then there’s the motivation thief. It wouldn’t take much to get a little bit more motivated, if only Mr Committment was ever more present… Adele, my only resolution this year is to try to learn to be to kinder to myself, I hope you join me x Best Wishes for 2017 x

    Liked by 1 person

  5. In my mere opinion, I completely understand your struggles. I work too many hours at a real job. I find myself frustrated finding the time to create and when I have the time I find my motivation slipping away. Sometimes I feel like I am on an island all by myself too tired to do anything but wait for another coconut to fall out of the tree so I can eat.

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  6. Adele, you’re starting to scare me because it would appear we are far too much alike in too many ways. The biggest difference appears to be that you will actually discuss your difficulties to some extent, where mostly I lumber through things that trouble me with humor I may or may not actually feel. Or I just don’t go there at all. I will say this, though, in response to what you wrote here: “I think the trouble with us medical professionals is, we are happy to sort out other people’s problems, but we don’t like to allow ourselves to have any of our own.” I have two sisters, both close in age. (Me, I’m in the middle.) Anyway, the younger has vast clinical experience as a nurse and can be quite aggressive in what I should do when feeling “off,” though it’s rarely advice she applies to herself. My older sister is a medical sociologist and gerontologist, so she brings her own perspective to all things medical and, like my younger sister, is all too happy to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do. In fact, I’ve known many, many medical pros on every level. I adore them all. I very much admire their expertise. But yes, not many appear to follow their own advice. That’s something I’ve never quite understood.

    Anyway, in my 2016, most things simply sucked. Three reasons were, indeed, (and actually remain) medical in nature and I’m flat out sick of them. (No pun intended.) They will go away, hopefully soon. But could I get free on any level of those right now without my husband, who after an incredible 36 years STILL puts up with me? We couldn’t be more different people if we were paid enormous sums of money. (Then again, I put up with him, too, and he’s no walk in the park.)

    Bottom line? You’re authentic, honest, courageous and just very cool. Even though you’re younger than I am, I hope to be like you when I grow up. (Now, Adele, the right thing to do here is hope that I never actually DO grow up.)

    Oh. One last thing? You can see why I’m not a blogger. I believe I’m a pretty decent fiction author, but blogger? Real life? Huh. No. That takes a special talent. You have it and I remain hopeful that one day you’ll stuff your blogs into a book. I would be first in line.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Oh, thank you, Laura! Well, we do seem similar. It took me some time to work up the courage to admit something was wrong. But my behaviour was different, and I felt I’d rather confess than be misread as being a complete grump. And I think you’d make a really good blogger. It sounds as though you have an interesting life and would have lots to tell us! Thanks for being such a wonderful internet friend! 😊

      Like

  7. Lovely, although please don’t ever underestimate how cheering it is to also read about his weird idiosyncrasies and failings. We know you haven’t exhausted them all yet! x

    Liked by 1 person

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