So, today’s the day.
But I think my Ides actually happened yesterday, so I may be okay. Yesterday, I had a horribly shitty day. Like, very much so. Horrible. (You couldn’t tell, but I said that last one in french. Cause, yes, that’s how bad it was. French-bad.) And because I’m stupid, I expected my husband to just beam into my head and figure out that I had a horribly shitty day and try to fix it.
Instead, I asked him to take a walk with me.
We walked for two hours: downtown, Old Town, Five Points, Big Spring Park.. you named it, we walked there. Saw lots of people we know. Saw a dog we didn’t know. (Edie! So cute.) And the whole time, I was struggling to come up with words about the shitty day I’d had. So I could.. what’s that word again?.. communicate with my husband. But I didn’t have any words.
So we got home and I went to bed. And here we are: THE IDES OF MARCH. The day historically known for bad luck. Catastrophic occurrences. This is the day.
I tried to be proactive today: I began a new, more RESPONSIBLE routine. I was at work by 7:10. I have everything for the day squared away. I am ready.
But I still have 16 hours left.
Ok, “French Bad” is just funny! I just last month Stage Managed a production of “Picasso at the Lapin Agile” by Steve Martin. There are some hilarious “French Bad” moments in that script. You’d love it.
In the meanby, keep your chin up. Nobody’s better at listening to the unsaid than your husband. He’s a solid friend and a good man.