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witticasterI still have to write the stuff that comes before this point, where Julius is an utter ass about "why don't I just sit at the typewriter, that won't be taxing for me, I can get up, c'mon, c'mon" type things ever since coming out of the hospital. Until then, Kay snapping at him, post-heart attack. IT SEEMED LIKE A REALLY GOOD IDEA AT THE TIME, IDK.
"You are the most childish, insufferable man sometimes!" Kay cried, resisting the desire to throw up her hands. It was similarly difficult to keep from pacing; she was left staring Julius down where he was sitting at the edge of the bed, one foot already on the carpet. "It doesn't matter if you don't like the doctor's orders. You're not a doctor--you don't get a say in it."
He paused in his attempt to get up from the bed, his hazel eyes widening. Perhaps she'd cut more deeply than she'd meant to just then, by her words or by her tone. At that moment, she was hard-pressed to make herself care, especially when he settled back against his pillow and his pallor was made all the more evident. "All right. I'm lying back down."
"Good." She was quite ready to head out of the bedroom and find something to do, something menial enough that she needn't think of how Julius was ready to kill himself over the damned typewriter, but then she realized Julius' plight: he'd set aside a great many of the books and magazines scattered around the bed. No doubt he was growing bored. Trying to soften her tone as best she could, she asked, "Would you like me to bring you some paper? You could write from here, if you wanted."
Julius shook his head, his face still taking on a cowed expression. "I think I'll try for a nap. I do need my rest, you're right."
With Julius apparently convinced--in the most martyr-like way--that he should lie still and get some rest, and with Philippa off at school, it was finally possible to get some of the housework done. It felt as much like drudgery as always, without the benefit of taking her mind off her husband; with each chore complete, she found herself thinking more about Julius, fidgeting in bed and waiting to be deemed as healthy as he wanted to feel. It only took an hour to get the apartment looking livable again, just enough time to feel sorry for Julius in earnest, and to regret the way she'd snapped at him. However unreasonable he'd been, the fact that he was incorrigible when confined to bed was nothing new to her, and it had never been something difficult for her to empathize with.
A plan began to take shape in her mind as she finished up scrubbing off the kitchen countertops, and she decided that she might as well try it that afternoon. After she'd checked on Julius, anyhow--she couldn't do much more to the place without vacuuming, and that wasn't going to happen as long as there was a chance that he was sleeping.
She cracked open the bedroom door and peered in, finding Julius staring up at the ceiling. He looked nothing so much as resigned, or maybe bored out of his skull. Slipping inside, Kay asked, "Are you sure you wouldn't like some paper, Jules?"
He glanced over at her and sighed. "All I really want is to be able to get up."
"You are the most childish, insufferable man sometimes!" Kay cried, resisting the desire to throw up her hands. It was similarly difficult to keep from pacing; she was left staring Julius down where he was sitting at the edge of the bed, one foot already on the carpet. "It doesn't matter if you don't like the doctor's orders. You're not a doctor--you don't get a say in it."
He paused in his attempt to get up from the bed, his hazel eyes widening. Perhaps she'd cut more deeply than she'd meant to just then, by her words or by her tone. At that moment, she was hard-pressed to make herself care, especially when he settled back against his pillow and his pallor was made all the more evident. "All right. I'm lying back down."
"Good." She was quite ready to head out of the bedroom and find something to do, something menial enough that she needn't think of how Julius was ready to kill himself over the damned typewriter, but then she realized Julius' plight: he'd set aside a great many of the books and magazines scattered around the bed. No doubt he was growing bored. Trying to soften her tone as best she could, she asked, "Would you like me to bring you some paper? You could write from here, if you wanted."
Julius shook his head, his face still taking on a cowed expression. "I think I'll try for a nap. I do need my rest, you're right."
With Julius apparently convinced--in the most martyr-like way--that he should lie still and get some rest, and with Philippa off at school, it was finally possible to get some of the housework done. It felt as much like drudgery as always, without the benefit of taking her mind off her husband; with each chore complete, she found herself thinking more about Julius, fidgeting in bed and waiting to be deemed as healthy as he wanted to feel. It only took an hour to get the apartment looking livable again, just enough time to feel sorry for Julius in earnest, and to regret the way she'd snapped at him. However unreasonable he'd been, the fact that he was incorrigible when confined to bed was nothing new to her, and it had never been something difficult for her to empathize with.
A plan began to take shape in her mind as she finished up scrubbing off the kitchen countertops, and she decided that she might as well try it that afternoon. After she'd checked on Julius, anyhow--she couldn't do much more to the place without vacuuming, and that wasn't going to happen as long as there was a chance that he was sleeping.
She cracked open the bedroom door and peered in, finding Julius staring up at the ceiling. He looked nothing so much as resigned, or maybe bored out of his skull. Slipping inside, Kay asked, "Are you sure you wouldn't like some paper, Jules?"
He glanced over at her and sighed. "All I really want is to be able to get up."
