I don't want to go downstairs, I had a 'lay in' to avoid him and I've been 'having a shower' for an hour now.
He'll be off to the pub in half an hour, again, and will be so pissed when he gets home he won't be able to do anything useful like string a coherent sentence together. He disgusts me. I hate what he's turned into but he seems almost proud of it like an act of defiance against all the naysayers 'look at me I'm running a house and able to drink gazza under the table' but he can't. I'm running the house and I'm exhausted.
I need to leave. I'm going to leave this week, he doesn't know it yet but I can't live like this anymore