J’ai mal aux cheveux...

I blame Dan. My wonderful husband was so worried about me worrying about him that he had the kids neglect to inform me that he was in the hospital. He finally told me yesterday afternoon, much too late for me to be driving to Crosby from Dallas when I have to be back for class Monday morning.

But I knew that the longer I brooded about not being there, the more likely it would be that I would drive home anyway. He joked about the liquid diet that they’re going to start him on, so I added that I would start my own liquid diet: wine, beer, whatever the hell was in the apartment as long as it was in a liquid state to make sure that I didn’t get behind the wheel of Big Bertha. She’s a good girl, but unforgiving.

He says he’s fine. But that’s what he always says. He told me to wait to come home just in case I have to come home later. The fewer classes missed and all that. So, I put up the readings I had to do for the week, put in Sense and Sensibility, again, and preceded to put down my frustration with my current situation through several libations. It was quite poetic, actually.

Until this morning.

One day, that man will realize that I always find out, and then I’m more worried than I would have been otherwise.

Quote for the day: “Too much work, and no vacation, / Deserves at least a small libation. / So hail! my friends, and raise your glasses; / Work’s the curse of the drinking classes.” Oscar Wilde