MeSoFun Blog

Dial X to exit PA school. This happens every now and then. My phone dings with an alert. Somebody has commented on my blog! I click and read the comment. It's often our old neighbor or a former co-worker or two. We chat. We make jokes. Good times. But every now and then it's somebody making a comment on a blog about how to survive PA school as a spouse . It happened a while ago and I've still been processing the comment because it's so damn sad. Our anonymous reader/commenter sounds like he's at the end of his rope. " I've never been more alone in my life, as the past 6 years has been every day spent with her. She's changed. My hope is she will come back after PA school is done. She's just not there," he wrote. There was more. He tried to be funny, but mostly it was sad. He's worried their marriage won't last. Communication is impossible. They don't see each other much. It's familiar. Every PA school spouse is nodding their head

Ah, the scenes of winter. This kind of thing happens every winter. There's alway a horror story. What else would we do the rest of the year in Maine if not complain about winter? I came out to move my car because there's a parking ban tonight. This is what downtown living is like in winter. No big deal. There's a huge city-owned parking area a block from the house. I'll just amble to the car and pull it down the hill. Today, my car was almost immobilized and unable to make that drive. You could see the flashing blue police lights before you could see anything wrong on Park Street, the road next to my house. There was one police SUV at the bottom of the hill because a woman's car had veered to the left, gone over the sidewalk and taken out a possibly-decorative fire call box. Portland: We're quaint. Higher up the hill, there was a second police cruiser behind my car. I could see a sedan had jumped about halfway across a sidewalk; I just wasn't sure if he'

Quasi-resolution No. 1: Play more games with these guys at the Bear. The Wife does *not* understand me. Gratuitous Daisy picture. This is not breaking news. Do not hold the presses. We knew this. TW, and much of the Western Hemisphere, takes the new year as a time for self-reflection, to further shine and hone the diamond that is life. And to her credit, TW comes up with laudable improvement goals such as volunteering more time and further defining personal aspirations. For me, a new year represents two things: 1. The start of tax return preparation; 2. Orange purchasing season. The naval oranges at Hannaford are amazing. I'm eating two a night at work. They are a glorious break from apples, which I normally eat hand over fist at my desk. I am that guy. Beyond that, a new year doesn't mean much. However, this flies in the face of orthodoxy. How can you possibly want to improve if you don't re-evaluate? There are two styles of change. The first is dramatic. You shave off all