he's an odd little man. he's skinny and wiry, but with a beer belly. his balance is bad, he talks like he's drunk when he's not, and when he is he is completely unintelligible. and he talks with his mouth full of food. he stumbles. he's clueless. he can't remember anything.
he is a good man, but he has a brain injury. most of this is not his fault, but here I am all these years later wishing I had a normal man. one who could walk and talk and make love to me at age 60. one who could earn a living. one who knew about mortgages and taxes and the cable bill and what to do if a pipe broke. how to fix a car.
oh, wait. I had a man like that. I had a house and a car and two babies, but I cheated on him and he threw me out. what was I thinking.
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