You’re lying on the cool wood floor of your dining room, beside the china cabinet, almost under the the table, in the fetal position, sobbing, moaning “I don’t know what to do! I don’t know what to do!”
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You’re lying on the cool wood floor of your dining room, beside the china cabinet, almost under the the table, in the fetal position, sobbing, moaning “I don’t know what to do! I don’t know what to do!”
I remember an April day Karen and I spent on Dartmoor back in the late '80s. In the middle of that sunny spring morning, a dark squall blew in, with low clouds, hail and eventually snow.
I get hit by great gusts of anger from my wife. These days, It seems that the best I can hope for is a forced smile and an artificial "good morning."