The Wife Gets A Litter Sicker Than I Do, Sometimes…

It’s only 3:43. I’m just killing time, waiting in the corner for my wife to go to bed. She’s not feeling very well, and I have a hard time dealing with that. I feel like I have to go away a few feet, and get her to sleep before I continue to keep her awake with my seemingly endless psychobabble.

I’m not sure why, but I don’t exactly like the keyboard I am working on. It doesn’t quite feel right on my fingers, even though I can see the keyboard fairly well. I lose focus every now and then, but that doesn’t seem to be stopping me from pitching in a few words as I let my wife alone, just for a damn minute. That doesn’t seem to hurt too bad. I keep trying to feel across the keys, but I can’t…quite keep a good train of thought.

Something is a little wrong with me, and I feel like Mr. Jones by Bob Dylan’s interesting record “Highway 61…” Was it that one I have, or is it the other one I enjoy whose name is escaping my grasp, particularly right now.

I’m only shaking at the keys now, instead of striking them. Seems to be better than I have felt in years. I simply wait, wait for my wife to get some sleep. She does NOT need to hear me or continue to listen to me anymore, because I had a fantastic bitch-session with my father. It’s like that stupid pillow punching therapy in a manner of speaking: “here, kick my ass, and I will be okay” and you do that into a pillow and you feel better.

I’ve done this. I feel better, after having slept a touch. That’s the way things work, but I don’t know exactly how they work. I mean, look at this mess, I’m sitting here at nearly four o’ clock. People came over to the house with a baby, a three legged bulldog named Pearl. It sounds awful, doesn’t it? But I sensed after a while that it might be OK to let it go a little, just sway for a few keystrokes. I’m now looking at the keyboard, instead of barely being able to touch the thing for fear that I might upset someone. I have occasional tremors and have to take in deep breaths. Makes me yawn, but it is just enough to keep me humming. This could be worse, my timing seems to be a little off. Being a few minutes late for something isn’t all that awful. The trouble typically is when you can’t keep track.

There are a few things that I have noticed. One of the things that I am happy about is that I am not absolutely in love with fucking Facebook anymore. I don’t feel like sitting still. I mean, I know now why I have some relief from pain, but I couldn’t tell you why exactly. I suppose all I have to do is clear my head long enough to say something. I guess this is a “transition” period, which is good for the lungs but bad for the heart. It makes me twitch, it causes a few nasty little headaches. While my wife is more of a symphony girl, I have to write. I don’t have a lot of time for this. It is so late it is almost morning. My back hurts like a son of a bitch, so much that I have to put my head in my hands and sulk.

I don’t mind too much, this using of my back, but it is bothersome.

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