this morning #1363.

this morning, she offered up yet another one of her classic uninformed diagnoses. shot daggers at me. i tried to ignore her. succeeded until i was broadsided by a blow from an old, firm pillow. right upside of the head. knocked me over. i don’t get her sometimes. pillow violence is not the answer. it’s not going to get me to listen. not in this situation. i shook it off. sat up. took her hands in mine. tried to reassure her. we’re not screwed. far from it. said i really wished she’d stop saying we were doomed. insisted she stop blaming the whole thing on me. we’ll be just fine. i explained that i have a plan. sort of. it’s cool. we won’t even have to leave. maybe. all will be forgiven. here on earth, at least.