Yesterday I was explaining to someone at work how I feel terrible that when I come home from work all I want is quiet and I don't want to talk or listen to any one. He likes to come home and tell me all about everything. Last week he finished tutoring at the high school. He had come to understand why I was always so tired after I got home from work. On the days he tutored, he would take a nap after work. Today he started tutoring at the middle school. He walked in the door an announced that no one could make a fucking sound for the next two hours. He didn't want to hear anything, and he thought that when he started teaching full-time that we should buy a house in the middle of nowhere. I told him Quitman already was mid. o'nowhere, but he disagrees because he still can catch snatches of playing from the well-behaved children next door.
Oh, what a glorious day. My husband understands me so much better than yesterday. And it turns out that he also realizes that I am a saint and possess unending patience to have quietly suffered all this time.
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