Good God, here we go again. I can’t slee...

Good God, here we go again. I can’t sleep. Like last night and the night before. I am dreading tomorrow night, tonight, dreading it and so (looks at the clock) it's another night when I can’t sleep. Lying up there for two hours, rigid with dread. Been like this for the last four nights since I found out about it. (shakes her head) Now it’s can’t sleep won’t sleep, doing the small hours tango with all those lovely things that visit you in the middle of the night. The night fears, the big questions such as what have I done with my life? What is the meaning of it all? Is there a God? Did I switch the oven off?

She checks the oven.

I have to make a decision one way or another. And one way it’s going to upset my nearest and dearest and the other it’s going to upset someone just as important that I haven’t even seen for more than forty years when she...I hate it when I have to make a decision like this, who doesn't? I am torn in two over it. I don’t want to seem like an ungrateful bitch but I will. I don’t want a surprise party. Who in their right mind would attend their surprise party if they knew about it? The surprise will be on them when they find out I know all about it. Do they know so little about me that they think I would be into an idea like this? I just can’t think of a way to get out of it. I’ve promised to be there, under some pretence of a quiet birthday meal, but I know what's planned. I can’t cry off at aged sixty and if I storm out then I am a stupid old cow, not cool or contrary. Plus I have this other reason to be there. I know, I sound like a miserable sod, old Mrs Ungrateful, I don’t blame you, maybe I am. But if I wanted a party I would have asked for one. Why do people always want to ruin things for you? Marking a woman’s age like this. It's some twisted joke on the part of my husband.

She points upstairs.

He’s up there. Not in Heaven, in bed. It is the middle of the night after all. If you listen closely you just might be able to hear him snoring... (listens) sounds like a pig grunting down a drainpipe...he’s gloating because he’s already a pensioner. I’ve been dreading turning sixty and now I have this party fiasco heaped on top. And I have something else, a really important secret thing arranged for tomorrow night. I can’t tell him about it, can’t tell anyone about it. Haven’t even told my closest friends. And this thing clashes with this bloody party. I’m torn in two but I can’t split myself in two and be at both special occasions. I can’t go to both and I can’t tell anyone about it. It’s such a mess.

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https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/EdChapman(artist)