I went to lunch with my grandmother today. On the way back she told me the same old story about how she won a bunch of money to go to Europe with my grandfather. Then she told me the same old story about going on a "dirty walk" in Amsterdam and how one of the prostitutes grabbed my grandfather's arm and she had to reclaim him.
I don't really mind hearing the same old stories over and over, and I think that's probably strange, but I hear something new in them with each reiteration. For instance, this time my grandmother made an aside about how my grandfather never said no to anything, no matter what she asked. She said someday I'd make some nice girl a wonderful husband, and all I'd have to do for that was to be like my grandfather.
I think it's a testament to my ill-formed psyche that I just can't envision myself as a husband. I need to figure out what obstacles need to be surmounted to be able to think of myself that way. That must be the next step in this process. Histolysis, go.
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