It’s been a week since I came back and the other half has been drunk every one of those nights (I’ve had to physically stop him from smashing his head into the television set a couple of times). Last night I mentioned maybe opening a door or window for a few seconds to get rid of the really strong smell of cigarettes wafting from the dining/computer table in the middle of the room. He then fixed on it (as is the way with some drunk people). He kept repeating that being his house it was his right to do as he pleased in it and he wasn’t going to stop smoking (I have never asked this, he volunteered to a few months back but the gum and patches have sat unopened next to the ash tray ever since) and once again if I don’t like it I can leave. Only I can’t until I get the necessary financial independence to do so. It’s apparently okay for me because I have all day to do whatever I like… like wash the dishes, the clothes, keep the house clean, stock up the food, try my best with the garden, pay the utility bills and volunteer for a mental health charity while looking and failing to find paid work. So I lost my temper, raised my voice, went to my room and he is still in bed at one in the afternoon. Booze has it’s place in society as a social lubricant and for some a brief chemical holiday but I really can’t see the point of blowing your mind and body night after night and then hiding from the effects well into the afternoon when you have work the next day. I’ve spent the last month away from home helping people who have lost much of their brilliance to chemical solutions to solvable life problems. It’s just so sad to see a rather clever and attractive person slowly drown in mediocre wine.