I'm working and having a breakfast date on a Saturday and Caleb is all admiration and stars in his eyes. Perhaps he is still dreaming.
It's your capacity to endure.
You or your brother?
Everything you have been through.
Including you and your brother.
I'm going to change the subject now.
To what? Cheese?
Possibly, he says. He is fighting a smile now.
My capacity is that of your standard, shorter-than-average human and nothing more.
On the contrary. You're extraordinary.
You like words that end in -ary.
Oh do I?
Sure. Exemplary. Revolutionary. Weary. Blah. Let's get going. I'm starving.
Patience, Babydoll. I'm waiting for one more call and then we can leave. What are you going to have? Did you decide yet?
Nothing with cheese, if that's what you're wondering.
***
For those of you via email wondering how it's so 'easy' (WHAT the fuck.) to joke around with the Devil or wax nostalgic about past and present love while my husband rots in a rehabilitation program in the US (one with a five-star chef), please remember that Ben did this to himself and I'm not supposed to stop living, nor would I do anything that I wouldn't do if he were home.
Also remember that the Devil and I have a mutual love/hate relationship and this is how we do things and finally please, if we're going to go there, open your life to me so I can judge what you've done.
There are thousands of other blogs to read. You don't have to be here. I like that you are, though.
