Life...just one damn thing after another

The way the blog has gone over the last week, anyone reading it would be excused for thinking I was inventing the content of the posts for dramatic effect. I might doubt the truth of it all myself, were I not the nut connected to the keyboard. I say this, because, having spent last weekend wrestling with the skeletons in my cupboard, it now seems that my marriage is flirting dangerously with the rocks, but not for the reason I alluded to around a week ago.
Ironically, it all began with what should have been good news. Before my time on the sick list, I'd applied for a number of internal vacancies with my company, a move designed to alleviate two of the major stressors in our lives - my current job and its associated problems, and the fact that we're rapidly running out of money, because I had to take a drastic pay cut 4 years ago to be able to return to working in Cornwall rather than Berkshire, where I was at the time, so that I could be at home on a daily basis, something which was necessary at the time for reasons connected with my wife's job, and which I can't say too much about because of professional confidentiality (my wife is a psychiatric nurse, and the problems arose from a case she was involved with). I heard yesterday that I'd been offered an interview for one of the jobs I've applied for, and given that I'm likely to have substantially more experience than most, if not all, of any other applicants I would expect to be up against, I should, if I give a good account of myself, have a pretty good chance of being appointed. The downside, of course, is that I'd be going back to working away, and given the roster pattern of the potential new job, I'd be spending even less time at home than I did when I was working in Berkshire. This isn't something I'd embrace with enormous enthusiasm, but if I hadn't been prepared to do it, I wouldn't have applied for the job in the first place. In enunciating my reservations about the prospect of being away again, I managed, seemingly, to give my wife the impression that I was going to deliberately 'throw' the interview to avoid being given the job when were talking about it this morning. This led, I'm afraid, to a rather bitter argument, with me harking back to the reasons for me having had to leave my previous job and my wife bringing up the circumstances of our moving to Cornwall in the first place, 10 years ago, which, through a combination of a couple of bad decisions and a couple of pieces of outrageously bad luck, cost us something in the region of £30,000 in the first 12 months after we moved and which set the scene for our financial travails ever since. It finally degenerated into my wife questioning what we were carrying on for, and me, in that moment, being unable to come up with an answer that could convince myself, never mind her. The only saving grace is that my daughter had already left for school before all this kicked off, so that she, at least, wasn't dragged into the mire, but if we've got to this stage without me even mentioning those rattling skeletons and their present-day offspring, the immediate future could be somewhat bleak.
There is, however, a Plan B which has come to my mind since this morning, which, while it involves a high-risk strategy, might yet give us the best of both worlds. I'll discuss it with my wife later, if she's willing to listen, and we'll see what happens.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B