28May2025 Diary
I can still hear the words my husband John said almost two years ago, words that have never left the back of my mind: You live so predictably that Im bored with you. At the time I thought I was right. My days were a wellkept routine. I rose early, had tea and toast, did my morning stretches, then dressed for work. The first order of business was to see John off he left for the office at six, and I followed him with my own preparations. All meals were cooked at home; I packed a secondbreakfast box for both of us. Each evening I stopped at the corner supermarket on the way back, then spent the night cooking, cleaning and doing the laundry. Before bed it was a bit of a film and then lights out.
It all seemed perfect. John looked tidy, we ate well, the house was neat and comfortable. What more could a woman want? Every Saturday I tackled a thorough springclean of the whole house, baked something special, and whipped up a big dinner. In the evenings we either invited friends over or headed out into town. Sundays were for visiting our parents half the day at Mum and Dads, the other half at my inlaws, helping with chores, chatting, enjoying family time.
Evenings were calm, no shouting, no arguments. Our home felt like a little sanctuary of peace. Then one day John announced he was bored with me. He spent a few hours telling me how dissatisfied he felt, citing friends who were living it up, always out and about, having a blast. We never argue, he said, so its all too quiet. And with that he walked out.
I had been content with the way we lived; I wasnt eager to change anything. Yet, for Johns sake, I was ready to do whatever it took. I started with my appearance. I cleared out most of my wardrobe, spent the £8,000 wed saved for a new garden shed on a fresh batch of clothes, cut my hair short and dyed it a bold shade. I didnt want to look dull any longer. Then I switched jobs not to a dull desk role, but to event planning. That new job opened up a whole world of quirky entertainments.
A week later John came home, stunned by the new me. I promised him a completely different lifestyle, and we delivered. We barely stayed at home after that. We were constantly on the move, meeting interesting people, hitting clubs, restaurants, pubs, parties, friends flats anything that broke the monotony. We could go camping in the Lake District, cycle along the coast, paddle a kayak on the Thames, or pop over for a weekend in York.
Months into this whirlwind, John suddenly craved quiet, calm, just sitting at home. He missed homecooked meals and my baking. I barely had time to stand at the stove any more. I had changed so much that he no longer longed for my company.
A week later he told me he couldnt keep up with the highoctane life. He wanted to return to the old, comfortable days evenings at home, weekends visiting his parents, eating fresh, homemade food instead of reheated takeaway. By then Id grown accustomed to the adult responsibilities of my new pace and I wasnt keen to abandon them. I liked my former routine, but I wouldnt go back now. When John demanded we revert to how things were, it turned into a real drama.
In the end, his dream of a quiet life shattered. Dishes were smashed, neighbours called the police, and John packed his things and went to stay with his mother, apparently expecting to return and find me as I once was. That would be too easy. Were not characters in a film who can simply switch back. When John eventually comes home hell find divorce papers on the kitchen table, along with a note that says Im bored of him and I cant live with him any longer.
