Amusement that the Sunday times are still the same as when I used to travel back to Uni, twenty years ago.
Remembering how exhausting and painful it was by the time I got back to my cold, cold room at the Student Village in Maidstone, with it's brick wall rooms, tiny fan heaters and my fold out camp bed that had the thinnest mattress on it and provided no warmth. The hot showers with great water pressure were the only benefits of that horrid place.
I looked at the times and thought, "it isn't worth the tiredness and general worn out feeling to get the extra 3 hours at home and catch the 5 pm train and get back here at 10pm, verses catching the 2pm train and getting back at 6 pm." After looking at the times, it barely seems worth all the money and stress and pain to go home just for a quick overnight visit. I'll save it for the long weekend. And Drive. (eeeeeek!)
Then memories came flooding back of my first fionce saying the opposite thing. That it showed I didn't love him enough if I didn't want to spend every free hour of my weekend home, with him (instead of, say, some time with my family and other friends). That not wanting those extra three hours on a Sunday afternoon to be together demonstrated that I put my comfort before him. How he would always guilt me into doing more than I could physically and emotionally cope with. Just to prove I loved him as much as he wanted me to love him. Such a draining person.
Well, he was right. I didn't love him enough.
Which I may have also indicated by my constant attempts over 2 1/2 years to break it off with him.
He didn't love me either. He loved some image of me that he had created in his head and was constantly trying to mould me into being. Pygmalion (My Fair Lady) may be my favourite play, but his version of Eliza Doolittle was not someone I had any ambition to become.
I like my Trickey Man. He is fun, silly, relaxed and his overriding appeal has always been that he accepts me for who I am. Even when that changes. Sometimes daily. He says that it is fun to never know what mood I'll be when I wake up each morning.
Interesting that he changed his hours to leave the house long before I wake up in the mornings...
Those three extra hours would BE the comfort more cherished, more desired than an easier ride to the city, if my Trickey had been the one I was spending those three extra hours with.
Gushy, mushy, lovey-dovey stuff. Sowwy. :-p But blogs are an awesome place to sort out my thoughts and feelings.