Stitches in Time

What were the odds of this outcome?  I might have figured someone from the celebrations might have ended up here, my least favourite place in Bridgewater.  Odds were high on this being the one!  Pretty stellar service though, always impressed, and lucky on the timing, to see it all.  This fly-tieing Frederictonian, 13 years of practice with two teenage daughters.   The stories of the likely swelling and the number of stitches freaking her out, but such a relief it seems this is it, and that perhaps it serves as a precursor to the necessary discussions about the stress relief.  As Mom reads into the comments the difficulties of his marriage.  Bedside manner as confessional?  I love the Shakespearean and Starfleet insignia references, but aimed for me rather than her it seems.

...

22 dissolvable, it turns out in the end.  A hard skull.  Conversations begun, too, but the options are so hard, the habits so ingrained.  The expectations, the worries.  How it will play out, who knows.  But the randomness of the chance of this path tonight, so absurd.  Where will it lead?  The fall-out, recriminations, comments, tensions.

If only I had left it, too.  Perhaps it would have played out quite differently.  Hard not to feel responsible as a cog in the machinery, inserted to assist just as it becomes the cause of the breakdown.    Oh my.  Sleep.  As I think of that song by the girl who sang Flamenco for Gotd.  This is a marriage.