It would be so nice to be able to write that The Curmudgeon had a great day.  I do not see that coming down the pike any time soon.

     If anyone tells you that watching a loved one go downhill due to an ailment of some sort, isn’t the hardest thing in the world to do, they are full of shit. 

     I’ve watched The Curmudgeon trudge that downward spiral for years and the last few have been the worst.  I dread waking up and going downstairs each day.  I fear what I’ll find.  Is he having an okay day or is he having another bad day?  Far too often the bad days outnumber the good. 

    The strong man I married is no longer who I see.  I see a stranger.  I see his frustration, his bitterness, and his flagging spirit.  He lashes out at me on occasion.  I lash out at him too.   It’s on days like that where I need to find someplace to escape to so we both can decompress. 

     I lost my weekly Border’s decompression when they closed their store.  The gym just doesn’t cut it for me, it is not a place where I am at ease.  Starbucks here is a little stand at a mall.  It seems to me there are no more comfortable places for a writer to go around here.  Don’t suggest the local library, they don’t like it when you come in to hang out and there’s no coffee.