I often wonder what goes through the quieter guy’s head when the more talkative guy uses words like “my” instead of “our.”
I don’t mind telling you guys, I am tired. #Squirrel had eye surgery on Friday. Her bad eye is bad and her good eye is recovering, so she’s effectively blind at the moment, but the ophthalmologist told us that everything seems to have gone perfectly, and that everything in her eye looks as it should, so she’s in great spirits. Here’s the thing about my wife: when she’s in great spirits, she likes driving me crazy, so she is having a grand time using me as a seeing-eye chef/secretary/chauffeur.
SHE ACTUALLY WANTED ME TO COOK HER DINNER LAST NIGHT INSTEAD OF HER MOTHER. I’d consider it a compliment except that I’m getting my butt kicked all over.
Seriously, I do have to be very present for her, and I have to be mindful of the layout of the apartment so she can navigate it without any dangerous surprises while her eye heals, and I have to keep it presentable for her mom and her aunts who are coming by to help us out. Also, Will and I are in the middle of convention prep, I’m working on the comic and a pilot, I’m scheduling meeting with producers and other writers, oh, and I’m a bartender. All of this while fighting a chest cold.
Look, I know I sound whiny. I AM being whiny. But this is the spot where I get to vent this stuff without laying guilt on my wife that she neither needs nor deserves, and I can’t see you guys giving me looks or hear you guys calling me a [REDACTED] under your breath.
Now I have to run and go pick up the new dining room table that #Squirrel has decided that she wants.
PS: Happy Birthday, Ashley! (Ashley’s my little sister. There is literally no possibility that she will read this, but I want you guys to know how awesome I am.)