I've really got the blues today. Some friends are having a birthday party, and we were not invited. I can't blame them, my husband is such a liability at social events now - dominating the conversation talking about himself, 50 years or more ago, and completely oblivious of the fact that he has not picked up on the topic everyone else was talking about, or that boredom is glazing the faces of those he is lecturing. Trouble is, I can hardly remember what he was like before. I know he was a good conversationalist, now I feel I am dying of loneliness and sheer boredom when at home, because there is no repartee, just banal comments about the cats, the weather, and the number of flies in the conservatory. I know it is the illness, and not his fault, but that does not stop it hurting when I come back from seeing my niece recently diagnosed with MS, and not a word is asked about how she is. Or I do a day's freelance work, and come home to find he has drunk a complete bottle or wine, which is denied. The fact that there are traces of wine in glass, empty bottle in recycling bins that were cleared by the binmen that morning, and one less in the wine rack are just pushed aside, with arguments followed by swearing. Our marriage was pretty ropey before this happened, so there is not the great fund of love others can call upon to grit teeth and carry on. He never maintained contact with his children from a previous marriage, so I can't call on them, although I have kept in touch with them and we have seen all four of them this year. Seeing a dotty father who can't remember your name once every 8 or so years does not warrant taking him off my hands for a week or so's respite, and in any case he would be unhappy in a strange place. Today I just don't feel I am the right person to be caring for him, but our home is the only place he wants to be, so I have no option but to carry on, resentfully.