I crinkled up my eyes and smiled at him from across the table this afternoon. Jake was making chicken noodle soup while I was finishing a short story for a deadline that passed on Monday. Not a fortune to be lost but I waited too long to get my shit together this month and I am so behind already.
Organic chicken soup with whole wheat noodles, organic flax crackers and green tea.
Jacob, this is why I'm dying of colds this year. I have no preservatives in me.
You'll live until you're a hundred if you keep eating right, princess.
What if I don't want to live to be one hundred? I'll be deaf and dumb and probably blind and even more wrinkled than I am now.
You aren't wrinkled now.
Crow's feet. Look at them. I'm an apple doll.
Please, you've had those since I met you.
Right, which means I'm aging dreadfully.
Oh, be quiet and eat your soup.
Well...it is pretty good. Pass me one of those hippie crackers, please?
One hundred, princess. Mark my words.
***
(Save the Bridget, save the world).
I might have t-shirts made. Does anyone want one? Hell, I might wear one myself.
Random drive-by panic attacks are exhausting for husbands. He's not helpless, he talks me down. He talks to me soothingly until my breathing slows and my eyes lose their wild glow and my hands stop with the fucking fluttering. He's amazing. This is why he's going to make such a terrific chaplain, because in an emergency he's the one you want right beside you.
Even at four in the morning, like last night.
I really hope that was just a scraped-up effort culled together by my brain to check for progress. Because I would like to point out how really really good I'm doing. And I'm going to continue on that path, I just need a little more sleep first.
