Friday, February 6, 2009

Tell me something good

This morning, 7:05

Me: climbing back into bed after getting dressed, just to cuddle with the mister because I’m feeling all shaky and vulnerable and have that heavy anxiety pit in my belly.

Mister: It’ll be okay, baby.

Me: tearing up and taking that gasping breath that comes right before a big ol’ snotstorm of crying.

Mister: probably panicking because he really cannot deal with any more tears from me, especially before he’s had his coffee. Really, it’ll be okay. Just get through today.

Me: deep breath. Okay. Tell me something good, something nice.

Mister: Your ass looks good in those jeans.

Me: So not what I was thinking, but thanks.


JM said...

Ha! That reminds me of the time I started crying in my fiction workshop because people were being too hard on my story, and my friend Amy blurted out, "You look like Julia Ormond!" (I don't. I'm sure your ass does look good in the jeans, though.)

I don't comment often, but I do read regularly, and I'm really sorry you're having such a shitty time. You don't deserve any of it.

MOLLY said...

Awww that was sweet of the mister. Yeah, I think guys get freaked out when we cry and they want to make us feel better more than anything, but they don't know quite how.

Buster said...

JM - actually, thinking about it a little, you do look like Julia Ormond. Also, thanks for the sympathy. My work and I have come to an agreement about my last day of employment and what we're calling my termination and whether or not they'll give me a good reference, and that alleviated some of the pit in my tummy. Now, if only an awesome job would fall out of the sky and land in my lap, it would take care of the rest of that pit.