Worked-Up Weekends

The weekend was good and bad. I went to see the rents on Friday evening. We had dinner, Mum talked about work which seems to be increasingly stressful and less enjoyable for her. I told them about my fainting episode, which they reacted fairly indifferently to. Discouraged by their seeming disinterest, I didn't tell them about Samson in quite the detail I had planned to and was rewarded for my albeit reluctant sharing of information by my Mum's only comment being "How silly of your friend to think you were joking," after I described Samson's initial reaction to me slumping forward and then sideways off my chair. This is precisely why I never tell them anything.

By lunchtime on Saturday I was ready to go home, but had gone there mainly to practice the trio arrangement of 'O Holy Night' that we've been asked to learn in preparation for the recording of a Christmas CD for a church project. I felt distracted, uncomfortable and desperate to go home. After a singing practice that didn't end till about 8pm, we had a bite to eat, watched a bit of TV and got our things together to leave in the painfully slow way that it happens every week, finally getting home at about 9pm. I packed my laptop, clothes and toiletries in the rucksack that is gradually becoming an almost permanent attachment to my back in my current life as a nomad, and left for Samson's. He'd been out with his flatmates for a drink or two, so when I met him he was pleasantly tipsy, but in a way that my grumpy, stone-cold sober self wasn't able to fully indulge. We got home, chilled out for a bit and then went to sleep around midnight, both feeling really tired, with Samson nursing the beginnings of a headache and me finding it hard to get comfortable because of my sore neck.

I woke up some time later to the sound of his flatmates (and the three friends who were with them and were staying the night in the living room) arriving home noisily. After the drinks they had with Samson, they'd gone out for dinner and then presumably gone on for further drinks elsewhere. Not an uncommon Saturday night activity. I tried to settle and get back to sleep after the initial banging of doors and chit-chat as they first arrived. I checked my phone. It was sometime just after 3am. I became more acutely aware of the discomfort in my neck and found it hard to get comfy, despite trying several different positions lying on my back, front and sides, with varying degrees of pillow support. I could still here chatter from next door, but not the low mutters you might expect for 3am. There was full-on normal, if not louder volume, conversation. I felt slightly irritated, but then heard them inflating the air bed for their guests and thought they would probably settle down soon. I lay awake for what seemed like ages, getting steadily more aggrieved by the pain in my neck and my their incessant talking, laughing and banging of doors as they moved between their bedroom and the living room and took turns in the bathroom. There didn't seem to be any awareness of the fact that it was the middle of the night, or consideration for the fact that other people were also in the flat and trying to sleep. Samson stirred now and then and seemed to notice the noise, but then punctuated it by the occasional snore, which normally doesn't bother me, but was now just another item on the list of Annoying Things Preventing Me From Sleeping.

At some point the noise must have subsided enough and I must have managed to get comfortable enough to start to drift off. Just as I did, a door banged and woke me right back up again. I was fuming. I felt frustrated by what seemed to be a complete lack of regard or respect for other people. I wasn't sure I could really say anything because it's not my place. All I knew was that I wouldn't do that in my own house and certainly wouldn't do it at anyone else's. I'm especially conscious living with Big Sis and Bro-in-Law, who are both relatively light sleepers. Big Sis has mentioned to me before that Samson disturbed them by closing a door loudly when he got up to use the toilet in the middle of the night. It's obviously just how they are in their place, but to me it was completely alien and really disrespectful. I was getting more annoyed about it as I lay there, knowing that I was meeting friends for lunch the next day, so couldn't just sleep in as long as I wanted. It also annoyed me that they've had the cheek to complain about Samson snoring on occasion, when that's something he isn't even always aware of or can even help, but they could have chosen to be quieter if they wanted to. I checked my phone again and it was 4am. I drifted in and out of rest for ages, never fully sleeping. They were still talking or watching TV in the living room but now some of the group had moved in to bedroom and were having a non-stop conversation, meaning there was noise from both sides, as Samson's bedroom sits inconveniently in the middle of the two rooms. Samson stirred and I mentioned the noise, him acknowledging it, but then half-heartedly saying "Go to sleep," towards the direction the noise was coming from. I checked the time again. It was after 5am.

I can't remember what time I managed to fall asleep again. I woke up again at about 7.30 or 8 I think and then finally woke up at about 10.30 to start getting ready to go out. I felt exhausted, my neck hurt and I was irritable because of my lack of sleep and what had caused it. Maybe I was over-reacting or over-sensitive, but it really got to me. I felt glad that I was going out because I don't think I could have talked to any of them normally by sufficiently hiding my irritation. I mentioned to Samson that the noise had kept me up and that I was feeling really tired, but he didn't say much about it. After getting ready, I left to meet my friends. Samson walked me part way to the bus stop and then went to get a paper and some breakfast, as the house guests were still asleep in the living room, which leads onto the kitchen.

For a wild change, I was the first one to arrive at the restaurant for our lunch date and remained the first one for almost 20 minutes. I'm usually the late one, so it was only fair that I was kept waiting! Ms. Blunt and Ms. Benetton arrived eventually and we got talking, noting that it had been 10 years since we started at uni together and reminiscing over some of the memories we had of that time. We shared our various updates, them having much to say about work as usual, since they both have interesting jobs which they both seem to enjoy, or at least gain some fulfilment from. They laughed in disbelief when I told them NY Guy had got married and both agreed they were very glad I had met Samson. I asked Ms. Benetton about her ex-boyfriend, who had been finding it hard to let go when we had last spoken. She had told him not to contact her anymore. She explained that he had called her recently, as if nothing had happened and had wanted to meet for a drink. In the end, she agreed to give one last chance to a friendship, knowing that if he messed things up, which she knew he undoubtedly would, she would have good reason to cut him off for good. As she described their meeting and the fallout that occurred consequently, I felt disturbed at how much I could see echoes of my own experiences with The Ex. It was clear listening to her experience that her ex was unhinged and not grasping reality, using guilt and mind games to manipulate her. I couldn't believe how clear it was and how similar the situation sounded to my own, but only now that I was out of it. She had taken that as a clear last sign that she needed him out of her life and was planning to change her number. I was really pleased for her. It sounds like such a trivial, simple thing to do, but only when you've been involved in that kind of situation with such an emotionally manipulative person can you understand quite how much strength, energy and courage that takes. The food was delicious and we lingered over our meals, dessert and hot drinks to finish. When we parted company, I got the bus back to Samson's, realising that I didn't actually have much time until I was meant to meet The Mrs and her boy that evening.

When I got back, Samson was alone in the flat, which I was thankful for. I was still grumpy due to my lack of sleep and grumpier now I realised that I probably wouldn't have time for a nap before meeting The Mrs. Samson was watching the Grand Prix in the living room, so I escaped to the bedroom to check a few things on my laptop and then have a lie-down, with the hope of catching a few minutes' shut-eye. Samson came in when the race had finished and we added layers of clothing in preparation for the cold outside, before leaving to meet The Mrs and her Mr down the road before heading to the fireworks display. As we walked to the tube station to meet them, Samson could tell I was not happy. He asked what was wrong and I told him that my lack of sleep because of his inconsiderate housemates was the cause of my mood. "It was a Saturday night," he answered in their defence, seemingly oblivious to how rude it had felt to me, Saturday night or not. "I'll remember that then," I said, feeling that any further discussion would be futile, that in my current mood I would likely say something hurtful that I would regret and that I would make a mental note to make as much noise as I freakin' felt like if we ever came home late on a Saturday night and they were in bed.

I knew it wasn't a good time for an argument, but in hindsight I probably should have just let loose and got that gripe off my chest. Instead, I pulled away from Samson and resisted his attempts to be affectionate, then felt slightly peeved for the rest of the evening. We met The Mrs and her boy at the tube station and then walked for about 15 minutes trying to a.) find a toilet and b.) find somewhere decent but cheap to eat. Eventually we passed a Chinese takeaway/fish and chip shop, where Samson, The Mrs and I bought a portion of chips each and The Boy bought the same but with a container of special chow mein. It was a few more minutes' walk to the next tube station (there are four along that stretch), so we got on the train there and got off at the next stop, which was the closest to the park we were going to. Apparently, half the borough were also going there, and we joined the crowd of people trying to leave the tube station and walk to the park. It was quite cool being part of a huge group, knowing you are all going towards the same place. It was an eclectic mix of people - the usual annoying trendies who are a relatively recent addition to that area, families with small children, young couples, students probably from the nearby uni (my own alma mater) and groups of teenagers.

We got to the park about 10 minutes before the show was about to start and stood talking, while they released a few Chinese lanterns into the sky and people around us waved sparklers, light sabres and tea lights and apparently smoked weed in equal measures, if the smell in the air was anything to go by. Eventually they announced that the show was starting and that while also commemorating Bonfire/Fireworks Night, they were also commemorating the 70th anniversary of The Blitz, mentioning that some survivors from the local area were present. I wasn't altogether sure that a fitting memorial to the start of the WWII air bombings of London was setting off fireworks, but what do I know. The show started with the WWII sirens going off (which I always find slightly scary), spotlights searching the sky and then a recording of a man and woman singing London's Burning a capella. The fireworks started with a soundtrack of 40s songs, including the old Vera Lynn favourite We'll Meet Again. The fireworks were actually really good. I can't remember when I last saw a live fireworks show, but I'd forgotten how pretty and spectacular they are. I felt a little like a child again and embraced the warm feeling, which seemed to override my grumpiness temporarily.

It was all over too quickly, which was to be expected I suppose, seeing as it was a free show. The crowds turned back the way they had came and we made our exit, much slower and more claustrophobia-inducing than our entrance had been. We made slow progress as the leaving hoards bottlenecked the narrow exit and residential street it opened out on to. The Mrs was worried she might have a mini panic attack and I wasn't surprised, since I was also feeling a little uncomfortable, but we eventually made our way through the crush and walked back to the tube station. It was a short but sweet visit, marred only by my mood and therefore probably the effect it had on the atmosphere. We separated near the tube station, hugging each other before going our separate ways. Samson and I walked halfway back down the road before catching a bus the rest of the way. I felt exhausted. My ankles and hips were really aching and sore and I was feeling quite tired, even though it was only some time after 9pm.

When we got back, I got in bed and didn't really want to talk to Samson, but we somehow got around it. He massaged my calf muscles for me, which were killing me and killed slightly more as he needled them and dug into the tender parts, but I knew he was loosening up the muscles and that they'd feel much better the next day. I felt sad, knowing how irritated and hateful I had been feeling inside, knowing that he always bears the brunt of that, but still doesn't react negatively. I don't feel like I deserve the way he treats me and am constantly waiting for the time he snaps and shouts at me, says something cruel or dismissive, or something equally negative. I still also feel guilty for being annoyed at him about anything, even if I know it is justified, at least to a degree. We eventually went to sleep, but this time I wasn't disturbed by anything other than the thoughts in my head.