Dear John,
I took an involuntary trip into the past this morning. And it made me aware that my Cymbaltaless emotions are a bit raw. I need to avoid musical nutmeg graters for a while.

I so wanted to have the little, normal things like sleeping with my husband. But three months after we were married you were diagnosed with your second round of cancer, and little things like a having a normal life receded in importance. And nine months after that, I quit that awful job and we both worked second shift, which was about as close to normal as we ever got. By that time the song was gone, and so were any expectations of a regular life that I might have had.
We never did get to have our days of carefree sexual debauchery, did we? Between working different shifts, health problems, and 60-hour weeks, it never happened. But that's probably just another myth, like 9-5 jobs with weekends off. Normal people have children, and that's even more devastating to debauchery than shift work. And I don't feel like I missed out on anything except getting to grow old with you. The song is another myth, isn't it? It's not what real life is about. Hearing it, then and now, made me feel like I was missing something. But I had you, and that was always the only thing that mattered. And all that matters now is that I will be with you again someday. Until then, I'll avoid emotional nutmeg graters like that song.
Love you with all my heart,
Joan.
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