Deeply

He bounced around the apartment, checking under the couch cushions, noting that someone needed to vacuum the couch, rechecking the pockets in his jackets and pants, rooting through all the bags in our living room, including mine, and moving furniture to check underneath. I scampered after him and before too long sweat was pouring down my face and I could feel my blood pressure rising. I was all but guaranteed a bloody nose before the end of this event.

He lost his keys.

I repeatedly told him to take mine and I would look for his while he was gone. I told him he didn't need any keys today. Just ring the bell and I'll let you in when you get home, I promised. I just wanted him to leave because he was stressing me out so very much with his lost keys.

I know I had them when I came home last night, said he, so they must be in the apartment.

Finally, I had enough.

Let's do the dumb thing. Walk through the events of your homecoming last night. So we did. So the keys were found.

**************************

I've been reading a lot lately about how hard marriage is. For the most part, I don't know that I believe it has been hard for us. Our day to day existence is relaxed and easy going. Sure there have been moments of intolerance, miscommunication, and snapping at each other, but when if I had to pick five words to describe our marriage, difficult would not be one of them.

But these last few months have been difficult. My father's death has been a bigger life event that I could have ever imagined. We have been pulled in different directions, we have been in different states, we have seen different challenges. Dr. BB is still going full throttle on the academic job market in one of the worst markets in memory, I'm trying to help my mother and sister with bureaucratic bullshit from three states away.

***************************

So maybe marriage is only difficult when life is difficult. A shocking conclusion, I know.