The Island

When push comes to shove, we're always together.

When push comes to shove, we’re always together.

Amazing. People are like cats. When one of them is hurt or sick or injured, cats react by becoming hostile or isolate.

The same thing happens with people. Especially when someone is regarded as normally invulnerable. How they wind up on the island. Nobody wants to confront the reality that the supermen of their lives can be laid low by anything.

Why dogs really are superior. Their impulse when you’re hurt or alone is to get closer, even if there’s some barking and snarling involved.

Actually, we hate each other. Most of the time.

Actually, we hate each other. Most of the time.

Nobody likes it, nobody wants to believe that my wife, Boudica, is really hurt. They’d prefer to stay away and pretend it didn’t happen or isn’t serious.

My friends the same. Not realizing or wanting to know that there is no me without her.

Um. One exception. The one who has been here throughout. Call her Boudica Junior.

Who do you want me to kill?

Who do you want me to kill?

Why we’re not alone on the Island.

PS. No dog is an island.

I admit it it. He's OK. Mostly.

I admit it it. He’s OK. Mostly.

15 thoughts on “The Island

  1. I guess I underestimated the seriousness of the situation. Somehow I got the idea she was convalescing well, which is still no excuse for not asking after her. What is happening now?

  2. She still hurts and had her second bath in 3 weeks today. If you know women, that’s how much she’s been incapacitated.

  3. I hope your missus is okay. I know of very few married, sane couples, and as a reactionary it comforts me to know there are some people (male and female, I mean) still together.

  4. I’m sorry. I hope her situation improves soon. Is there anything either of you could use beyond moral support?

  5. Pingback: ★ “You aren’t afraid of the dark, are you?” | SALLY CAN DANCE

  6. Thanks, guys. We’ll muddle through. I apologize to one and all for being grumpy. The great good thing is that we don’t fight or chip away at one another. The bad thing is the physical fatigue, which I never used to be aware of but now seems almost overwhelming. It’s a surprise, even a shock. You know you’re getting older, but you still think you’ll bounce back. But you’ve got all the bounce of a dead tennis ball, and it’s humiliating. She needs you, it’s not her fault, and even though she doesn’t complain, everything you’re doing isn’t quite good enough. I guess that’s the real island. Why I feel like lashing out, I guess. Please bear with me.

    Boudica Jr is taking her to the doctor’s office right now. Hopefully, the news will be good and she’ll be taken off the very tight leash (and brace) she’s been living with.

    The worst thing has been sleeping alone. She has to be semi-upright on the couch. You wake up in the middle of the night and she’s not next to you. It makes you think what it would be like if that were permanent. Piercing dread and despair. Unbearable. Then you remember she’s in the next room and okay. But that first moment is horrifying, and it comes once or twice or more every single night.

    All of you who have a wife should heed my experience. Cherish every moment with her. Anything can happen any day. “Alone” has no meaning until you’re finally not alone. Then it becomes fear.

    • I am sorry to hear this, as well. If there is anything other than moral support you all need, let me know and I will do my best to help. Please keep us updated & both of you hang in there.

  7. Fumbling on iPhone. You nailed it: splintering, anger, isolation. All is lost for our country, but your love for Alpha is more important. And it will endure. You are a lucky man. My very best to you both.

    • Love you, G. Always have, always will. You should see Raebert in the flesh. He broke my ribs in an enthusiastic rush. Just preparing me for knowing what Alfa is going through now. He’s absolutely heart stoppingly gorgeous. Every head turns when he arrives. But you knew that already.

  8. So I see your response now for the first time, on this date. Doesn’t matter anymore. Time I mean, not you. The only connection I have with time is memory. The good things, the values, the few people I have admired and respected. Who will understand? A lost comment, probably. But maybe not for the reader. You. I’m still a stupid fucking romantic. God have mercy on us all.

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