August 5, 1962

Today I went to an appointment with my therapist (which went pretty well this time) and bought my daughter new school shoes.

That’s pretty much all I did. I got home late this afternoon and CRASHED. I had no intention of crashing, I just did it. I woke up less than an hour ago. I’ve been feeling like another flare is creeping up on me. I hope like hell I’m not going to go through another serious bout of fatigue. Tomorrow Morrigan is back in school, and I got shit to do, yo.

Anyway, I woke up, and Tom and I got into a conversation that made something click in his head and caused him to start singing this song:

Don’t ask me to pinpoint exactly what it was I said that made him think of it. That was, like, a whole ten minutes ago.

Anyway, I said, “Hey! That means today is the anniversary.”

“Anniversary of what?”

“It’s August 5th.”

“Oh! I’m not sure if I got the lyric right.”

So I did my DDG-foo, and sure enough, today is the anniversary of Marilyn Monroe’s death.

He looks over my shoulder at related results and says, “Arthur Miller… was he a writer?”

I look. “He was a playwright and essayist.”

“What did he have against essays?”

And there you have it, folks. I just shamelessly used the deathiversary of Marilyn Monroe to entertain you with my husband’s wit.

I am a sick pup.

teddy-baden-sick-pup

Click the pic to visit the artist, Teddy Baden.

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25 thoughts on “August 5, 1962

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