It has occurred to me that my rate of maturity due to being married and expecting a child is being lapped by the increasing feeling of getting old… both emotionally and physically.
Last night I had this big long blog about being a learned man and sharing my knowledge about surviving a relationship with a woman. It was all related to this past weekend and helping a younger friend move and his lack of preparation. There were all these jokes about the jabs from his girlfriend and his getting off lucky compared to how Missy would crucify me if I were in that situation. I even replaced Pavlov's dog with men as the primary subject in conditioned versus unconditioned responses.
But alas… that is a blog that will never see the light of day.
Instead, after about typing three quarters of the way through that blog, I ran out of gas. I was so tired that I was weary of having to put my boots back on later that night to take out the Murph; I didn’t even bother taking them off. We turned a movie on around eight o’clock and around eight thirty I was out. I’d love to say it was because I put in a “hard days work”. But that sure wasn't it.
So it has to be one of two things.
Either I am getting old. Or the crazy dreams and nightmares that have kept waking me up of late are being brought on as empathy to the wife’s pregnancy.
I am betting on a combination of the two.
Both things are a bit upsetting because neither can be helped. I mean no one likes getting old. Mortality of one’s self is a hard pill to swallow. And the dreams… well let’s just say this pregnancy has been rough on me.
…
Ok… I need to hit the breaks and change momentum. While ninety-nine percent of this blog is true; the tired thing, the move, the dreams and the whole deal about the boots… I may have intentionally angle my way to that quick little joke about the pregnancy. I know it isn't the funniest joke I've ever used, but it cracks me up.
And Missy loves when I use that line.
...
But seriously… why else would I be having dreams about losing fingers, being monster slayer trapped in a maximum security prison and going on long Sunday drives with Snoop Dog.
It’s that or my id has some ‘splainin to do - J
