Write about: the stuntman.
Tomorrow is the big day. The Canadian Federal Election, Version 2015. Please, Canada, get this one right.
Fair warning: if Harper gets re-elected, yet again, tomorrow's post is going to be a very, very grumpy one.
You're probably wondering why I do it. Put up with all the bumps and bruises and broken bones. Danger and death as constant companions, always hanging about the house. Not always keeping to the shadows either.
Is it the money? Yeah, it's all right. It would have to be, wouldn't it? Jobs like this don't attract people because of the glamour or prestige or being of service to others. Sure, it attracts more than its fair share of crazies. But that's not what it's about for me.
At least I don't think it is.
I still haven't answered your question, have I? My apologies. I suppose I needed some time to think about it in order to give you an honest answer. I'd hate to be flippant. Or say something I don't mean and then be unable to take it back. I hate when that happens.
And it happens to me a lot.
You'd think I'd be more careful with my words. Or maybe you wouldn't think that at all. Maybe you think I'm as crazy as the rest of them. But I'm not. It's all about love, nothing more.
So there's your answer, I guess. I married this nutcase of a stuntman because I loved him more than any man I'd ever met and that hasn't changed. That's why I'm still by his side, whether he's standing tall or lying in a hospital bed.
Though, lately, it sure seems like more of the latter, doesn't it?