Och, well, let’s begin, shall we? Now, I dinnae ken if ye’ve ever felt this way yerself, but there’s a particular feeling when ye once had a partner who’d join ye in all manner o’ things—be it some small task or shared adventure, aye, there they’d be by yer side. But then one day, ye look over, and what ye have isnae the lively companion ye knew, but somethin’ altogether changed…like a great beached whale, bound to the couch, with nary a care for movement. And there I am, findin’ myself doin’ more an’ more on my own, like some lone wanderer.

Many a time I sit, ponderin’ as the fire crackles low, wonderin’ what it is I need from all this, what I ought to do. I find myself thinkin’—can I do better? Should I be seekin’ somethin’ different, or holdin’ out hope that things might change? Truly, it’s like tryin’ to budge a mountain to get her to walk even a short distance. One hillock, a mere set o’ ten stairs, an’ she’s breathin’ as if we’d climbed Ben Nevis itself!

An’ it’s not just the walks. Bit by bit, she’s cuttin’ down on everything—work, movement, even small joys—turnin’ to the couch as if it were her kingdom. An’ here I am, wonderin’ where I stand in all this. I’ve reached the point where I’ve begun leavin’ her to her own devices, takin’ on things by myself. There’s nae much left in me to care if she won’t care herself. So I go off on my own—aye, join me or don’t, I say. I’ll be movin’ forward, an’ she can choose whether or not she’s comin’ along.

An’ if that were all, perhaps I’d find peace in the quiet, but no—there’s the nights. Ah, sleepin’ beside her feels like lyin’ next to an old diesel engine, coughin’ an’ sputterin’ through the night, her snorin’ so fierce I’d swear it’s the thunder itself. Pushin’, nudgin’—I try, but it only helps for a moment, just long enough for me to think I might drift off again, only for the noise to start anew. How many times I’ve given up, dressed in the dark, an’ gone off to work before the sun, not seein’ sense in layin’ there sleepless.

An’ here’s a word o’ advice to the young folk lookin’ for a wife, an’ the older ones too, should they heed it. Dinnae look to what a woman is now, for that’s only a passing thing. Nay, look to her mother, for there ye shall find a mirror o’ yer future. In time, as surely as seasons turn, she’ll come to look an’ act much like her mother, an’ ye’ll have a fair hint of what life may be like. It could be a good thing or bad, dependin’ on what ye see.

That’s all I’ve to say on the matter for now. Until next time, may yer hearth stay warm, an’ may the road rise up to meet ye.