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.