Talk about Roy Orbison.
Bill and I just rescued two cockatiels yesterday morning. He has taken all of the joy out of it by constant whining, puling, sitting on his fat ever-exapanding rump and relying on me far too much.
"What if I wasn't here?" I often asked him. "What would you do?"
I told him that if he does not have the knee replacement surgery that he needs, we are going to have to re-evaluate our relationship, and we have been together for well over twenty years.
I want my old Bill back, who used to accompany me on walks all the time. Now I've got an overweight puler who cries and groans and moans every time he moves.
If I ignore his moans and groans, he will deliberately trip down our two steps to get to the washroom, intensifying the moaning.
I have taken to ignoring him because I have advised him over and over again to go private and have his surgery.
Looking at Bill makes me feel dragged own, depressed and old. I love Mr. Turkle dearly, but if Bill does not opt for the surgery that he needs, I am going to walk away. I will walk away from our house, Turkle, everything.
The man is sucking too much energy from me, and I hate it.