My wife would probably kill me if she knew I was doing this instead of…I dunno, sleeping. Let’s not tell, her, shall we?
I’m currently working on a show that I know a bunch of you probably enjoy; it more than likely makes you giggle, if you’ve caught it on cable. But I shan’t say more here, lest I violate that NDA I signed.
Anyrate, my days start really early, as my call time is ass early, and my drive ass long. The Days are ass long, too, busy, and rough, and then I get home late, sleep little, get up early, do it again.
But then my wife’s days are like that too. Every day. All the time.
She’s up ass early to first work from home, and then, deal with the kids. She’s on the road early, and her commute’s long to get to a job that, while she loves, can be tiring and taxing, full and busy–sometimes more so because she’s an introvert with little reset time in an office full of extroverts who really really really REALLY like meetings.
Her commute home is long, and then she’s working late with the kids; up for a while after working on whatever she has left, with whatever she has left before going to sleep and doing it all again.
Every day. Rain or shine.
She does more of this, longer, and rougher when I’m working on shows like this, these shows that some of you have heard of, watched, or be completely unaware of.
My wife is a superstar. A powerhouse. A giant. And I love her.
I just had to say that before I go collapse, lay down my tired head and rest my weary feet. Maybe, in there somewhere, I’ll dream of the lady sleeping in the other room.
Of a smile, a giggle, and soft touches exchanged in the light.