Some days are harder
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Charlesí bad days seem to come in two distinct timbres. During the stretches when he canít sleep he becomes tender and affectionate. With enough sleep but with head, muscles or gut tormenting he becomes easily annoyed. Youíd think that on the eighth day God said The heavens and the earth and all that dwell therein shall conspire to make Charles Cagle miserable.. No one on the road knows how to drive, the mildest mishap is a slap. When I touch him his there isnít a slight shift or any sign that he notices or cares.
I feel that if Iím not inconveniencing him that Iím just an valueless lump. Sometimes his impenetrable misery persists for days. For me these are the bad days. Feeling insignificant Iíll wonder if I threw away a good life so that I could share mine with Charles.
Finally heíll rest his head on my shoulder or put his hand on mine and Iím again content.
I canít help but envy the folks who donít live through this. They pay their bills, hold their beloved and comfortably go from one day to the next.