there used to be a
third dog here - but she's gone now
remembering Findley.


Fridays are tough, under the new normal.  The rest of the week doesn't seem as challenging, maybe due to work demands or the freedom of the weekend.  Fridays suck - work winding down, the weekend creeping up, and a slight exhaustion clawing its way in.

Today has sucked.  I'm feeling anxious and my husband can't or won't talk about what's bothering me.  He's a brick wall if I want to have a real conversation about certain areas of our life.  Today's wall is his son and a realistic view of where we are.  Realism is negativity to him - anything that interrupts his pollyanna view of the miracle that may one day happen.    He and his mother can talk about how he might "clean up" and "go to school" when he's "done with being unstable".  And me reminding him that our son doesn't even have grade 10 is not "writing him off" - it's keeping everyone on the same fucking page so that we stop overselling reality and setting this kid up for failure.  He's gas station material, just now, not future engineer.  That's not saying he can't ever get there - but let's not pretend he can sober up and go to university.

Why do I even care?