Himself: Swam, looked for jobs, painted the bathroom…three coats, dinner, playing games.
Herself: Coughed. Felt awful as the morning progressed. Added Tylenol and thought I was going to live. Very tired of complaining.
Blogs to delight: Oh, it was a toss up today, but I cannot pass up the chance of telling you about Tabor’s blog, One Day At A Time. I feel right at home here.
Reading: Still inching to the end of the Garrett.
Gratitude: That the doc is taking almost immediate proactive action on this bout of bronchitis.
I do not say either that I struggle with writing a poem about deaths. Do we know our death’s, I write? Ugliness. It may all be true, but I did not know such a reality lived in me and would come spewing out on my keyboard. It must be security issues bringing all this reality out.
G paints. He primes, he attaches the new light upside down as this is the only way it will fit, he puts on two coats of intensely happy orange paint interrupted half way through by another trip to the pharmacy for more of those drugs that will make me feel twenty that I am so afraid of. Dinner and the other coat….all this work keeps his mind of his worries.
He grows more silent as the day goes by.