Three days off.
So, the Wild Woman of Borneo is living under our roof now, waiting for the miracle of birth. We are all on pins and needles, except for her, it seems. She tends to get all unraveled with the little shit that bugs her, but the big stuff just seems to roll off her back.
Maybe the small stuff feels like she has some control over the outcome, I don't know. That woman is the deepest mystery of my life, how she turned out to be the way she is, what she is, how to interact with her. A writhing, seething mass of dangerous contradictions.
She's got this boy hanging around her now.
Talk about an awkward romance. I think of him as Joseph, dragging Mary around from inn to inn, looking for a place to crash.
They are both in recovery and under the court's thumb. It breaks your damn heart to look at them, it really does.
You never seen anything more fragile seeming in your life.
Myself I feel pretty damn good. Tethered to my amazing woman I feel as grounded as I am likely to get, and ready for the storm. Not tensed up about it, either, just ready. Almost healed up, too.
It's all good.
Open, open, open.