They keep complaining about the smell on my floor…

I’ve decided to keep a journal of my days at home. My psychiatrist says it’s the best way for me to keep track of what my wife is doing at home.

I don’t see why that’ll help, it’s not like I see her all day. Most days I’m at work until 5, and on the off chance I AM home, she says she’s feeling too sick to get out of bed.

Anyway, I woke up this morning at my regular time, 6 AM, making sure I didn’t wake her. I put on coffee, making sure to leave her a cup, and made myself and our dog, Rusty, some breakfast.

They keep complaining about the smell on my floor...

I love Rusty, don’t get me wrong, but he doesn’t listen the way he used to. He’s always trying to jump up on the bed or scratching at our bedroom door to be let in. After we downsized when the kids left, I tried to convince her that it would be best to give the dog away, maybe to a hobby farm or something, but she wouldn’t have it. Saying stuff like “He won’t be the same without us! He’ll always be wondering where we went!”. Luckily we found an apartment building that allowed pets, so here we are.

I watched the news for a bit, showered, and got ready for my office job, all while making sure not to wake her. Ever since her diagnosis, she’s needed more and more sleep each day. “Just her way of getting better” the doctor told me.

I went downstairs and on my way out of the building, I saw Hank, our building’s security guard. I said hello and he came limbering up to me. He said hello, and asked when was the last time I took my trash out.

I told him yesterday, because I knew it was garbage day today. He seemed skeptical of my answer, stating that the neighbors complained again about the smell on that floor.

“It can’t be my unit, I keep the apartment as clean as possible, ever since my wife got her diagnosis from the doctor, she can’t do anything around the place until she gets better” I told him.

He let it go after that, saying he might have to get the owner to call an exterminator to make sure nothing is in the walls. We said goodbye, and he told me he hopes my wife will get better soon. “She will!” I told him, and went to work.

When I got home today, I took Rusty out for a walk, and made some dinner.

She was still asleep, but she was probably up today, because the bedroom door was open, even though I know I closed it to keep Rusty out.

I left a plate beside the bed in case she woke up hungry, and sat to watch some TV.

My favourite movie, “The Shawshank Redemption” was on. I’ve always loved the idea of pulling a great feat that confuses people, but will linger in their minds for ages.

Halfway through the movie, a knocking at the door. It was Hank, and what looked like some exterminators. He told me that the exterminators wanted to take a look inside my apartment to check for any mouse holes or bug damage.

I told them I can’t today, because my wife was already asleep, and the doctor said she needs as much as possible.

He said that that was alright, and that they will try again tomorrow, when she isn’t asleep.

While they were leaving, Hank looked back and asked if my wife is getting any better, because it’s already been 3 months since she went to the doctors.

I told him she’s a little sleepy, but I believe she’s going to be back at it soon enough.

I closed the door and went back to my movie. Thank God for the pause button.

When I went to bed, Rusty was in our room on the bed, sniffing around, trying to play. I shooed him out and closed the door, but when I was settling in, the door opened.

Rusty figured out that if he jumped up and used his paws, he could turn the handle just enough to open the door.

He couldn’t do that before, but I had to install a special handle that was a lever instead of a ball, do it was easier to open. After the diagnoses, she was extremely weak, and couldn’t even open doors herself.

Rusty ran in and went straight for her side of the bed, digging his snout right underneath the covers. I grabbed him and put him outside a locked the door this time.

When I went back, I noticed her hand was sticking out of the covers. I gently put it back, since she was still asleep, but stopped to admire it.

It wasn’t the same hand I fell in love with, but it was better, more refined. It had gotten smaller, and in the dimly lit room looked almost blue. I put it back and got into bed.

I hope there isn’t something in the walls, because it would be a nightmare to move temporarily.

Lucky for me though, I never really had a sense of smell.