The Man gave me an epiphany while watching "Marley and Me" the other night.
I said epiphany, you dirty minded lechers!
We were watching the movie, and Jennifer Aniston was reading Owen Wilson's past columns.
And she said that, during a really bad day where everything has gone wrong, she always has that.
And it's five minutes of him.
The Man turned to me (probably thinking sweet talk would get him something later one) and said that's how he feels about my blog.
It's a conversation he can have with me without heathens, dogs, or demands.
And asked why I hadn't been writing lately.
My response? I have nothing positive to say.
I am spinning in a world of my own making, wrapped up in concerns over my oldest, the Man's hand, and money worries.
And I've wrapped myself in it so tightly, I can't find a way out.
Damned wet paper bag.
But I also realized that by not writing, I was letting him down, which in fourteen years of marriage is something I've avoided like the plague.
And like the bathroom after one of his sabbaticals.
So I vow, babe, to do better. And thank you for tearing a small hold in my brown paper prison.
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