Damn, I'm wiped. Must sleep. The poor wife is splitting up 24 hour shifts with her partner. I won't see her until tomorrow evening. As usual. Is it wrong to pray for an old lady to die?
You know what's funny? Yeah, some (most?) of you think I'm a bullshitter.
The uke post below came from some dark well of memory, triggered by hearing the song I was listening to. At the time. I played the song, and had the wife read it, which she does, happily. More or less. Generally.
And she has a mind like a steel trap, whereas mine tends to skitter around like grease on a hot pan. Or congeal like honey gone crystal in the bear.
She read my little tale, her hand on my shoulder...we maintain a connection. Plugged in, as it were, and then she said, when she finished..."You know, you met the Golden-Eyed man again when you were in high school..."
I looked up at her from my chair, stunned, and she reminded me of the tale I had told her about meeting a male, the only male I had been strangely attracted to, and falling into his bright golden eyes, as he sat on the front lawn, surrounded by adoring high school girls.
Wow. We had locked eyes, and then I went about my business, and that was that. I told the wife that long ago, with a chuckle, as I had thought the whole thing odd.
I am dying now, my liver failing, weird, things happening to my body. Don't freak out. It'll happen when it happens. I could care less. The wife is an awesome parent. My potential demise horrifies her, of course, as hers would me, but hey, shit happens. And I have earned my share.
Wanna pray? Fine, pray. Good shit happens, too. Just don't break my balls over this. Please and thank you. Unless you think I am getting my just desserts, then, have at it.
I need some amusement.