The Blah Ditty Blah Blahs

This was my weather for yesterday during the wonderful foggy morning. I lightened up considerably by the afternoon, but if I didn't allow a clean window for anyone to look through, I'd be hiding. As our situation is that I am the one who runs out the door to a structured job, it does at times feel as though I am putting in so much of myself that I find my Soul Pockets empty at times during the day. That's when I start getting crabby and wishing that Borders would resurrect itself and burst out of the ground, cafe holding a coffee for me.

I do understand that my mate is "sick". Not falling over, hanky dangling from Woe Is Me hand position on forehead "sick - but basic always has something hurting or bothering him sick. He does 850 pushups four times a week. He carries the firewood in. You wouldn't know at all to look at him that there is a carnival of hurt going on. However, his focus is mainly on his symptoms, which are like a game of Whack A Mole. I think at times he overthinks them. That's not to say that they aren't there. I believe they are. But the focus is heavy. I hear probably more than 20 times a day what is hurting or what pain just shot through where. That I don't mind...it's good for someone to know. But when Tweenaling has a sudden pain somewhere and an Ow escapes her lips, he is quick to tell her she is being dramatic. This I don't understand from someone who is quietly saying Ow all day long.

So yesterday as I wrote the words below, I was ruminating through that garden of What I Can't Do. That burdensome notion of not being able to spontaneously buy a pumpkin for Tweenaling or a new outfit for her as she is growing like an Rgbh study subject! Sometimes I wonder how it change and feel sad for her as she constantly draws up new Christmas lists. I digress. This is yesterday's blog so I need to kick myself out and take my coffee to This Day.

Having a severe case of the Must Be Nice’s.

We chilled out last night, watching Part 1 of the Prohibition special by Ken Burns. We had bourbon and beer and a roaring fire in the fireplace. I dressed up in my 1920s garb complete with necklaces. The honey said that I looked pretty…so of course after a pile of hint dropping, I figured that after the show we’d get a little friendly.

(Insert Family Feud buzzer sound that signifies the Incorrect Answer!)

Ah, twas not to be. I can be as pretty as I want. The fact is, there were other things out that topped me in the Encticing category. Including football. Sigh. I guess that’s just a piece of life that my ego needs to skip past….sometimes despite best intentions, something else IS more riveting than me. Even THAT. Perhaps he didn’t have that on his mind to begin with and wasn’t even thinking about it as I was at the beginning of the evening.

For now, he is home, resting, watching tv, doing whatever. I am having No Job Envy at the moment. I know he is having a special day of sorts. Today is the anniversary of a very sad death in his family. But he would have spent his day this way regardless. It’s tough to barge out the door trying to get to There on time and then hear the relaxing yawn of *oh….I’m so tired. I took a nap but I’m still tired.*

Naps are not an option in this cubicle. So I windowshop in Haterville and try hard not to go in and buy anything.

When I got ready this morning I noticed that my face had another breakout from yet more foods that I should not be eating. I band-aid that much of the time with good foundation. However, the truth is right there staring at me when I wake up. I look like hell. And I guess lately I am feeling like it as in the sense of a good provider to her child. I make good money. But supporting a three person household on it is like a failing magic trick. The Tweenaling only grows up once. I become down when I think that she is not experiencing as much as she could be. Ah, parental guilt....the biological reason for that urge for action and change!