It's ended with Frances. It's been another stressful few days. She has been going on and on about wanting to read the blog and eventually gave me a bit of an ultimatum about it. I spent a couple of hours which I should have spent writing my PhD redacting it as far back as November and removing the passwords. Then I showed her it to her, instantly regretting the decision, feeling that I'd lost the ability to write openly.
Her reaction? Not a single comment about any of the nice things I or you have said about her. Simply a demand to see another earlier post which was still password protected. I lost my rag a bit at that point and sent her this:
No, I'm sorry. I like to keep a certain bit of my life separate. I hate this feeling of being scrutinised, of you probing every single thing I have said or done, as if I'm not entitled to any kind of private life.
I felt absolutely crap after releasing the posts to you, as if I was undergoing a trial, a trial from which I would never, because of your limitless paranoia, ever be found not guilty. And knowing that one of the things I most enjoy doing in my life - writing - was now forever going to be trammelled and restrained and polite. I let you have all
that information, and the only response you made was not a thank you, or to comment at all on any of the nice things people have said about you, but to demand yet more and more details and information about what I say to other people when you're not around. You don't like me having friends of my own, basically. You've got to realise that nowadays
these are people you meet on the internet as well as in real life.
I want us to continue, but I have absolutely broke my fucking back leaning over backwards to please you this afternoon, interrupting hours and hours and hours of studying time, putting myself at huge risk of personal embarrassment and humiliation for your sake, and all I get is this. No, you will never have the password to the blog, and if you by any chance hack it I will move the domain elsewhere and my readers with me.
Miraculously, and to cut a long story short, we made up again. Then last night I left my phone at her house. This morning she writes "You left your phone at my house. What a mistake that was!" She's read all my texts and now doesn't want to see me any more. She then sent some unpleasant emails saying that she hadn't enjoyed the sex, and various other things. I replied saying I found the sex brilliant with her and loved it.
She's coming round later with my phone, to collect keys, swap little items of belongings and so on, although I wouldn't be surprised if she doesn't let me have my phone back. I'm also praying she doesn't make a scene in front of Bela. Maybe I should move to Madrid.
