Psychic Flu

Hubs made it back after I was already asleep last night. He invaded my morning ritual fairly early and mid sentence of one of my brilliant morning word works. I am risking the sin of pride over how well we both handled the interruption. I finished my paragraph and joined him in the living room for a long talk about his, "Trigger Event." The talk was a twisty and knotty as spouse babble can get, but it felt ? ? ? satisfying ? ? ? productive ? ? ? progressive ? ? ?

As his first cup of coffee neared its end, Hubs started getting snippy again. I backed off of the family snot knots and found myself trying to define the noodle in my sloppy bowl of Psychotherapy Pro Soup who gave me the gem of treating my psychotic episodes like cases of physical flu. I believe I was the one who started calling ^it^, "Psychic Flu." Whatever the factual evers of the whats, I believe the process might be one of the most healing lessons I have gained from psychotherapy. I am on the verge of swearing by it.

As I shared the attempt to remember the source of this gem, Hubby's eyes started getting droopy. Last I peeked, his head had found his pillow. I kissed his tonsure and murmurred, "Stay hydrated. Lots of rest and soft foods."

Meanwhile, it's a business as usual day for me. So far. Knocking wood. The weather is predicted to be cold and rainy, so I won't probably won't get to the exterior today, but I expect to be able to finish the interior painting today. My helper worked out beautifully yesterday, but family demands have made her unavailable until next week. Yesterday's progress was pretty dramatic for the doubling of the crew size. Time to go see what it looks like in the dawn's light.