I hate feet

August 9, 2013 0952

            I cannot reach my brush.  My hair is down sweating on the back of my neck, but in this small cab I cannot move until The Goat Man wakes up.  The more stress we have the more he sleeps.  Yesterday there was a lot of bickering and stress relief.  Our leads for work are not panning out and The Goat Man is worried.

            I have been sitting here in the truck under the trees watching the squirrels play.  It is a beautiful day and I wonder how many of these days did I miss before now.  I would put up a picture, but I have lost my iPhone, so I have no camera.

            I have lost all of the pictures that were on the phone.  The day my grandson was born and the girls cheerleading pictures were all on that phone.  I saw it last at the pavilion where we all gathered to laugh.  I was showing the pictures to Cindy.

            I have had enough of the sticky.  I have had enough of the days dragging by because we have to be so strategic with our gas.  I have had enough of the spiders and the bugs.  But I look at The Goat Man with his hairy tattooed body, long hair, and goatee and I see this gentle beast sleeping.  His chest rises and falls.  His foot rests on my pillow on the steering wheel trapping me.  But it is so swollen it needs to be elevated.

            He should be getting disability for that foot that is reconstructed like the six million dollar man, but after surviving since Feb 2012 his lawyer was disbarred.  They won’t tell him why…that is a story I would like to hear.

            I try to take care of him the best I can.  He takes care of me.  He looks so peaceful resting.  I hate feet.  I don’t even like my own foot that is why I keep them way down at the end of my leg.  I message his swollen foot for him and pray it keeps his pain and swelling down.