Very Bad Cat recently wrote a list about why her husband was awesome.

I don’t have a husband. I do have an N. Here’s his list:

• He makes me laugh – a lot.
• He’s not afraid to be silly – if anyone knew the pathetically sad things we got up to together when at home I think they’d be sending round the men in white coats.
• He’s a mine of information. That boy knows all there is know about history. I do the English stuff. He does the history.
• I love the way he gets so excited about the oddest of things. Winning University Challenge, for example.
• He’s passionate. It drives me nuts when he argues with Newsnight but actually, I love the fact he’s so passionate about the world.
• He’s not a good boy all the time. I know, I know. But I love the fact he’s not perfect.
• He’s getting better at being more adventurous. The fact that I have introduced this element to his life and he’s taken it on makes me happy.
• He’s proud of me and tells me so.
• He makes me feel beautiful. Even though I know I’m not really, I am to him. Weirdo.
• He’s curious. About the world, about learning new things. He always wants to know more.
• He is vulnerable. Sometimes.

A follow up to this rather sad and miserable post.

N and I had a chat on Thursday. I was positive. He seemed to understand my point of view. We made plans. Plans to change. And yet…

 And yet this weekend, it just didn’t happen. There were tears (mostly mine) shouts (mostly his) things broken (ours) and bags packed (mine).

I’m staying with some friends at the moment.

I haven’t left N. I haven’t broken it all off. I’ve moved out to give him some time. To give me some space. For him to start making the changes he needs to make. For him to think about where he wants to go, what he wants to do.

I know he loves me. I know he hates himself and the way he is at the moment. I also know that he can’t solve it all on his own.

So I’m sleeping in an empty bed, hugging a pillow, wishing it was him.