IT'S a bad day. B is in bed already. He's exhausted; at the very end of his rope. It's as fatigued as I've ever seen him.
The girl and I have fought all evening over her not bringing the car back on time for us to go to town and run errands. It's taken a lot out of B.
He's been low all week, since the weekend, when he overdid it working around the house and going to help the neighbor guy. I hate seeing him hurting. I want to crawl in bed beside him and hold him, but I know that he'll sleep better without me there, and I have to go pick up the boys from a school dance.
I hate this. I hate this disease.
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