I’ve never kept a diary, but I think I want to start writing this down. Besides, everything else is different since Martha passed; one more change won’t hurt anything. Change is really what this whole thing is about, I guess. It’s only been a month since we put Martha in the ground — and no, I don’t say that in front of the kids, but that’s where we put my wife of nearly forty years, in the damned ground — and things have been a little rough. The kids offered to help, especially Mark’s wife, Brenda, but I wouldn’t hear of it. Too proud, I’d guess — though you won’t catch me admitting that, not out loud. “I’m retired, not retarded,” I said to them. “I can damn well take care of myself, thank you very much.” A little harsh, maybe, but I’d been through a lot. Anyway, I was doing just fine and getting done what needed doing. What do they call it these days? I think it’s “coping”. Then one day I noticed I’d been wearing the same shirt for three days, and it was getting a little whiffy. I looked at the hamper, saw it was overflowing, and I mean right out onto the floor. That’s when I realized the laundry’s always been Martha’s job and I’d forgotten all about it. And with Dave and Cecilia coming to visit the end of the week, too. Well, I couldn’t have them taking the news back to Brenda that I was living in dirty clothes, so I humped the hamper down to the cellar. That was when I met LaundryLegs. ~LaundryLegs - Current WIP.
Posted on: Thu, 06 Mar 2014 11:57:49 +0000
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