Patience

He said he was determined to come off the drugs, however long it took. Taken aback, “It can’t be indefinite,” I said, adding I was amazed at how patient I was being, saying that out loud, when normally I’m not. He took offence. If I wanted him to go, he’d go and go back on the drugs. “If it’s what you want,” I said, “but don’t bother coming back.” I was riled, muttering from the kitchen how I couldn’t even reflect on my own patience, but, as often before, decided not to take the anger further since it could only end the one way and I’m not yet ready to do that. He explained how difficult it was, how long it took in hospital what he was trying to do in a couple of days. On the third attempt, I didn’t say, and his last chance, I didn’t say either since it was fairly obviously I was losing patience.

He appeared in the library on my posting this.

He was going to see Terry. I asked why. I wasn’t buying him a travel card for a jaunt. It wouldn’t cost me money, he said. I asked did he have any money, to which came answer nane. By the time I came out of Waitrose he was gone.

He said he’d walked to Terry’s and back, about an hour each way; he just needed to get out of the house.

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About johnbrucecairns

I'm a retired history teacher who's written for most of his life with a book readied for publication.
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