For whatever reason, as I blog I seem to stumble on to a topic and
beat use it until I wear it out week after week. This week that topic seems to be about my husband.
In June he had a mishap and hurt himself while trikkeing. Even now, a few months later, I cannot write that without laughing. Especially since he was cloaked in cockiness as he explained to me that yes, eventually I too would get the hang of it.
Since that mishap he has been, what is the word I am looking for here? Yes, I know. Scared. He has been a little leery of getting back on the trikke and starting over again. In his defense he did tear a ligament in his ankle that still bothers him a little bit every once in a while.
Instead, we have been walking in the evenings. It helps us both wind down after a trying day and lately they seem to be more so. I just happen to have too many irons in the fire right now and I am really afraid one of them is going roll out and start a blaze that may be too big for me to control. (Hey I told you guys I was a drama queen, don't worry it comes naturally as I am a decendant of the true line of drama queens. Gram would be so proud.)
Anyway, last night I innocently asked if he had been reading my blogs. Turns out he hasn't. Quite honestly I don't know how I feel about that. Should I be upset that he does not take the time to stop at some point in his day and read these words that I labor over day after day? (Little bit of drama queen action right there.) Or should I be relieved and take that to mean that as long as he isn't reading I can pretty much use anything I want for fodder for my daily dose of Kellytime (when you say kellytime is should kind of ring of hammertime with the music and everything)?