People, and dogs, and house payments.
2006-04-25, 11:11 a.m.
I have so much news! A new car and possibly some other stuff, but Iím in such a horrid, prickly mood, that I really canít imagine writing anything entertaining or interesting about it.
Fought with DW last night, and we NEVER fight, and it ended with him giving the standard infantile passive-aggressive disclaimer ďWell, I guess Iím just always going to be wrong, and youíre always going to be right, and Iím too stupid to have a conversation with you, so Iím just not going to say anything at all ever again,Ē and my people, it took every ounce of my will not to agree with him.
Why did I remarry, lo these 4 years ago? Why do I consistently make decisions that just give me trouble and make things so much more complicated and frustrating? I could be single, celibate, and in complete charge of how I spend every single minute of every day, and never have to speak to another manís fucking inner child in need of a diaper change ever again, but NOOOOO. I like to make it complicated. I like the complexity. People, and dogs, and house payments. Blarrrr.
So then I had dreams all night in which we were fighting, and I woke up every hour or so, and had a monstrous night sweat in there where I sweated through not only the sheets, but also dampened the blanket, and then I woke up for good at 4:45 when Mrs. Beans came downstairs after foraging for trouble (she found a very small stuffed animal Ė how did she find that in the dark? and what made her think to do that?) and lost her footing on the last step or two and was all wildly scraping toenails on laminate floors, followed by a thud.
She was fine, of course, but it was a pretty loud startling way to start a too early morning.
So you see? If I canít take good blog fodder like car shopping, or German food with a friend who had her beloved Jetta destroyed in a hail storm, or dogs slipping down the stairs clutching a McDonalds Lion King animal in their teeth (this was the Timon that Mrs. Beans found right before Christmas, so we rescued him from her and made him part of our nativity scene) (where does she keep him?), or an idiotic fight, or a hearty night sweat, and make it interesting, what the hell am I even doing here?
My cell phone and email arenít on speaking terms AGAIN, so I canít even give you a shot of my frowny scowl. You will just have to imagine it.
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