squishisms.com

I’ve been evaluating everything lately.  A lot of it stems from being asked ‘how being married’ is every other day…

Being married is…weird…to me.  Not that anything in our relationship changed on June 13th, or that suddenly we were magically more committed to each other than before, or anything like that…  It’s more about getting used to this new identity of ‘wife’ for me.  In a lot of ways, it’s the same soul searching I went through when we got engaged and I realized I wasn’t the ‘typical’ bride.  Realizing that I felt that because I had assumed that moniker, I should be different…somehow…but not being able to put my finger on how or why.

I’ve always been a ‘good’ girlfriend.  I was intuitive enough to know when there’s a problem and adult enough to want to address it most of the time.  I was open and honest and willing to compromise.  I wanted to make tea when my boyfriends got sick and to take them out for their birthdays and miscellaneous celebratory occasions.

Then I found myself with a new label.  I was a fiancée.  And that title, and the situations that led up to it, cemented my certainty in this relationship.  But even though my wedding was atypical, I FELT like a bride.  I was giddy and excited and focused and (toward the end) stressed out.  I liked having people notice my single ring and getting excited FOR me.  I got exasperated with my future husband for his lack of interest in the details and read post after post on the internet on DIY Weddings and OffbeatBrides.

And then the day came and went and suddenly I was a wife.  What does that even mean?  What is the difference between a fiancée and a wife?  What does being a wife feel like?  How is it different from long-term girlfriend?  From ‘life partner’?  Some people think the difference is that god sanctions hetero, monogamous, committed relationships.  My grandmother, on the other hand, thinks that I am not a wife – because I wasn’t married in a church and had a non-religious ceremony.  That pisses me off enough to want to claim the title, but I struggle to think of myself as a newlywed…as Robbie’s wife…

I want to be a good wife… but I have no idea what that means.  This was never a role I saw for myself…wanted for myself.  I didn’t spend hours thinking about what kind of wife I would be…  I feel a bit lost.  It’s like fumbling in the dark of an unfamiliar house looking for a light switch.

One of the things that Robbie and I pride ourselves on is that we don’t fight.  Not really.  We disagree, but we rarely argue.  We have never attacked each other, verbally or otherwise, regardless of how mad we might be.  We let a lot of things go.  Because they don’t matter.  We’d rather spend that time loving each other and enjoying each other’s company than fighting about me being a bitch when the dishes aren’t done and/or him not doing the dishes.

I realized that recently – that at home it doesn’t matter who is right and who is wrong, what matters is who is happy.  And it made me wonder…

And now I’m going to break my own rules today.  And I’m going to talk about work.

Due to the nature of my position, I see the same people make the same mistakes again…and again…and again.  And it’s been coloring my days at work.  It colors my perception of my coworkers.  I start to wonder if they’re just that rude, stupid or lazy.  After so long, it’s hard to still believe they don’t understand.  Trying to think of exactly what and why they might not understand is exasperating.  It exhausts me…

But how is that any different than Robbie forgetting for the thousandth time to move my car into the driveway so the tree doesn’t spew pollen all over it?  Or getting cranky at other drivers? or yelling at me for being cranky at other drivers…. etc…

It doesn’t matter.

To be frank, a lot of people hate me.  I have a reputation for being hateful/mean/condescending/unhelpful/scary/blahblahblah.  Nevermind that I have written SCORES of documentation to try to help people understand – which few ever read.  Nevermind the twenty plus training classes I have put together and given to try to bridge the gap and open communication lines – which people only come to for the hour of training credit, and then talk shit about me giving because they think I put 40+ hours of effort into something just to make THEIR life harder…

They think, and say, that I don’t want to help.

They’re wrong.

But it doesn’t matter.  Getting angry about it does exactly as much good as it does me to get angry at Robbie for not walking the dogs.  I’m pissed off and they don’t care.

I am who I am.  I will always try to help.  I will always want open communication.  I will never want to do your job, and I will never want you to do mine – but we can HELP each other…which means communicating and working WITH each other.  So I will continue to try – because that’s who *I* am.  But I won’t get angry -because that’s who *they* are – and that’s okay.

I decided to treat InItToGymIt Blogs like the Karaoke-nazi at Common Interest.  No turning in multiple blogs all at once – and I will wait until I’ve ’sung’ to turn in my next one.  It seems more fair, since there are 100 of us contributing and I’m mouthy, and wordy all at the same time.  Yeah, I’m my own Blog Nazi.

I went to happy hour yesterday and discovered I like soda.  All this time I thought that tonic was the ‘healthier alternative’ for alcoholics trying to lose weight.  Apparently I was wrong, and it’s soda.  This makes me crazy-happy since tonic tastes like urinal cakes smell.  HOORAY FOR SODA!  But I definitely paid for it today at the gym.  I could SMELL the vodka in my sweat.  Is that normal?  I’m pretty sure it’s not.  Either way, it was gross.  I’m not a fan.  I think maybe, just maybe, the gods have found a way to cure my alcoholism.  I haven’t decided how I feel about that yet.

I also let myself smoke a cigarette, which I also paid for.  My heart rate was crazy fast and it was definitely harder to get enough air.  Normally I can sing under my breath with the Ipod, but that was sooooo not happening today.  This part I do know how I feel about, and I’m a fan.  I smoke more because I’m scared not to than anything else.  There’s a blog stirring there, but I haven’t completely fleshed it out yet.

Oh, and I did I mention I went to happy hour instead of the gym?  yeah, I did.  /badamandanocakeforme

Today was better.  I ate better and I made myself complete the cardio and the weight training.

In other news – it amazed me how OBSESSED with my life some people are.  People who can, have, and still do talk shit about me for HOURS at a time.  Who stalked my myspace page, my old blog, and apparently now this one too.  Seriously – I pity you.  If you really have nothing better to do than talk about me and my life – then obviously you don’t have much of a life at all.  Please – go find something that makes you happy.  I don’t matter that much, really.  And really, your words and petty actions have exactly |thismuch| of an impact on me and my life and happiness.

One of my girlfriends is pregnant – and HAPPY about it.  We, honestly, didn’t expect to live to see 27 – let alone wind up happily married and starting families.  We never thought we’d be content to settle down.  I can tell you now though, that looking back on all those wild and crazy fun times – I’d take my settled down old married life now over the crazy sexcapades any day of the week and twice on Sundays.  I. Am. Blessed. With a great guy (who, by the way is not a “greasy mexican” but thanks for that laugh – and the knowledge that you’re racist.) who treats me with respect and will N.E.V.E.R. lie to me.  With a plan for the future.  With a good job.  With a boss who understands and likes and respects me.  With friends from California to Carolina, and Michigan to Mexico.  I don’t have to dress up or shave, put on make up or do my nails to get laid, and I have two awesome dogs beating down the door to greet me every time I come home – even if I was only gone for five minutes.  I sleep.  A LOT.  Because I can.  Because I don’t have to wait until 10 o’clock for the bars to start getting busy and the fresh meat to come out to play.  Because I have my fun in the evening – because my Fun LIVES WITH ME.

Why on earth would ANYTHING else matter?  Why would what anyone else thinks of me matter?

It doesn’t.

Even if I don’t lose a single pound more than I have already – even if gained back the bit I’ve lost and more – I will still be getting married in two months.  And I will still have fantastic boobs.  And I’ll still be happy.  CONSUMMATELY happy.  SO happy that my face can’t hold back the smile if I try sometimes – for no reason at all most of the time.  SO happy that I will still be writing blogs about how awesomely perfect my life is.  About how much I love my HUSBAND and my dogs and our life together.  About how all my Awesome Friends from all over the country all shelled out the money for round trip tickets and hotels for four days in Austin for my Floating Wedding Reception of Awesomeness.  About how I will spend the rest of my life Living in Love.

And you’ll still be the sad little soul with nothing better to do than stalk read my blogs and try to make fun of my life rather than living your own.

Have fun with that.

Sometimes, I don’t even know why I am angry.  I just know that I am; that everyone sucks but me and they all need to stfu and getouttamyfaceandpersonalspace.  Later I will calm down and able to articulate that traffic sucked, or my feelings were hurt because blahblahblah… but in the moment – I have no idea why I am so angry.

I don’t think I should have to.  I don’t think I should have to explain to anyone why I am feeling the way I am in any particular moment.  I DO think that how I feel in any given moment should be acknowledged and respected.  I will do the same.  You will never have to tell me why you are not okay and need someone to go get ice cream with – just that you are not okay and need someone to go get ice cream with.  I’m a bad ‘fixer’ anyway.  I never know what to do or say when strong emotions are involved, and who the emotions belong to doesn’t matter.  But I can be there.

That is all I want out of the people in my life.  That is exactly what I want out of the people in my life.  Just to be there.  To understand that I am upset, unable to articulate why exactly I am upset, and go with me to get ice cream.  Or, as the case may be, make me a cheeseburger on skinny little lowcarb-whole-wheat-bread-things-that-aren’t-quite-buns-but-aren’t-bread-either and watch American Idol with me.

Yesterday was a good day, mostly.  I was (and still am) exhausted, but I got good news at work (the best really, but that is another blog for another place ifyaknowwhatimean) had date night with Teridactyl, loved the cheesy movie we watched… yada yada yada.  But then I sat in the tail end of rush hour traffic to get home after the movie.  And was cut off multiple times, flipped off and screamed at for simply being polite and merging when I found an opening, rather than zooming all the way up –as far as I could, and FORCING the other lane to stop to let me merge in.  Asshats.  I am angry all over again just thinking of it.  ugh.    And the longer I sat in traffic and the more I got honked at, the more I thought about everything else that I am currently not okay with in my life…

So by the time I got home, I was pissy.  My house is a wreck.  I still don’t have everything unpacked or put together – because when since the moment we moved in I have had this, that or the other to do every fucking day and the TWO days I have had to stay home, I just wanted to chill – because I hadn’t had a chance to do so since Christmas.  And the dogs wanted to crawl up inside my ass and hibernate.  And Robbie wanted to watch 24 because he missed it the night before because I was at the UT game.  And my Farmville crops were about to wither.  And I needed to shave.  And the boys wanted to talk about shows and festivals we cannot afford to go to.  And then give me advice on how I should spend my vacation time every year for the next twenty.

dinosaurs make me happy. dinosaurs in space?!? my week, she is made.

There were a lot of deep breaths taken.

And then Robbie realized I was pissy.

And he made me a cheeseburger.  And brought me a coke.  And went to get my pills when I sat down on the couch and realized I’d forgotten them in the computer room.  And then just sat with me and watched TV.

And that is why I’m marrying him.

One of the reasons I am Childfree is that I know myself.  I would be a horrible parent.   I don’t like children for more than an hour or two at a time – and even then only if they are clean and well behaved.  I have no idea how to talk to them.  Conversations with my friends’ kids can often be painful, awkward moments for me…

I like dogs.  They trigger that mooshy/gooshy/maternal emotional response in me.  I have slightly more patience for an animal that literally cannot understand the words coming out of my mouth than a child who just doesn’t want to.  I know how to train and communicate with dogs…

At least I thought I did.

Bauer can sit and shake and stay and lay down and come(sometimes) and drop it, plays fetch and is learning to walk on a proper leash.  He knows what I mean when I tell him to get in his crate, or off the bed or couch.  He is learning to get Up in the car on his own, and didn’t foam at the mouth on Tuesday when we went for a ride without Ginger to comfort him…

But Bauer is not okay.  He is terrified and overly-submissive and agitated.  He cowers even when we try to feed him and hides in his crate if I raise my voice or have any semblance of an angry tone – regardless of who I am speaking to.  It’s worse with Robbie.  He gets too afraid to pee, and then either lets it all go subconsciously in acts of submission to Robbie – or in the middle of playing fetch because he just can’t hold it anymore…  and then he hides and shakes.  Or he’ll follow me step for step and sit right behind my feet when I tell him to go potty.

He’s always been timid.  We’re 90% sure the people before us were beating him.  But it was getting better…

And then we moved.

And suddenly it was much, much worse.  And I have no idea why.  Or how to fix it.  He wasn’t this spooked when we brought him home with us to the apartment – so I don’t think it’s the move itself that has him so worked up…

I feel like a horrible dog-mom.  My baby puppy is scared and hurting and sad and I have no idea how to fix it.  I am not even sure if maybe we haven’t caused it in some way – which makes me want to cry.  Both boys are Over It.  They didn’t sign up for puppy-drama and are frustrated at his lack of understanding that he is Physically Okay and Safe.  At having to clean up his messes when I am not home and… so I feel guilty for bothering the boys.  For bringing this poor, pathetic, high-maintenance dog into their home.

*I* am terrified he’s going to pee on something and irritate/frustrate the boys.  Which has me even more on edge.  And makes it even more stressful – which I know he picks up on.  He is eight months old and 42 pounds.  He is going to be a big dog.  Too big to be so afraid of everything.  I am terrified I won’t be able to fix it and something will happen and he’ll bite someone and have to be put down.  I have nightmares of it… or that I can’t fix it and Robbie decides he can’t deal and leaves us.  Or he asks me to get rid of Bauer/says we have to get rid of him.

I’ve scoured the internet.  I am trying everything listed to fix this.  I am not petting his head or standing over him or hugging him tight like I used to.  I am letting him win at Tug games and making a concentrated effort to not yell or use angry tones.  I am lying down on the floor if he starts to shake or get scared.  I am trying to distract him with a toy if the lying down doesn’t work.  I am making a point to exercise him when I get home: with a walk, or games of fetch/chase in the backyard.  I am making him sit and stay and shake to give him something to do that he is good at and try to build confidence.  I am letting him rest his head on the top of mine and praising him every chance I get.  I am using soft tones when asking if he wants to potty and then walking outside to stand in the middle of the yard in the rain so he doesn’t feel abandoned or punished for peeing.  I crawled with him into the living room to eat – taking a handful out of the bowl and placing it in front of him.  I let him hide in his crate as long as he wants to when he wants to…

But how long before it starts to work?

…and what if it doesn’t?

You’ll have to forgive the Length between my posts Lately. I’ve caught Strep Throat again and have been curled up in the corner crying since Monday.

That being said:

Today I am extraordinarily grateful for Losanges. Specifically the Cepacol Sore Throat Losanges. They are the best Losanges, hands down, bar none. No other cough drop is going to numb your throat the way these will. (shuddup Cass lol.) AND they are sugarfree, so you don’t have to feel bad about going through an entire pack in one day. They are a gift straight from God, and me, myself, my dogs, and my fiance are grateful for them.

Aside from that though… L has been rather hard. There is Laughter and Light and Love and Lemon-flavored-cakes.

Man, I Love Lemon-flavored-cakes.

Lightning and Little-sisters and Lilies.

But my favorite of all these… even more than the Losanges… Is Learning to Live Together.

Anyone reading this knows I have had issues Living with people. Cohabitation is not my strong suit. And I never had any reason to really try to MAKE it work… until now. So here we are. Learning. Me getting over my ‘oldest sister’ syndrome and walking the dog myself because Robbie won’t let me talk him into doing it for me. Him doing the dishes and Learning that bras do NOT go in the dryer. Learning to share. To remember that EVERYTHING is Ours now. Not mine or yours. Learning to Listen to the Language we use. To what the other means before reacting to what we hear.

And I’m doing it. I’m succeeding at it.

Two Turkey Hotdogs:

Fat:                        15.9 g

Carb:                     1.3 g

Protein:               12.9 g

One Ounce of Peanuts – dry roasted and lightly salted:

Fat:                        14 g

Carb:                     5g

Protein:                8 g

Two Strips of Bacon:

Fat:                        6.7 g

Carb:                     .2 g

Protein:                                5.9 g

Two Scrambled Eggs

Fat:                        14.9 g

Carb:                     2.7 g

Protein:                                13.5 g

I am making a studied effort to eat more protein.  To not snack on CarbyMcStarchSnacks and to eat more “good” carbs.  However, methinks it defeats the purpose IF THE PROTEINS HAVE MORE FAT THAN PROTEIN.

Sneaky bastards.

I have fat stores coming out my ears.  Good fat /bad fat doesn’t matter right now.  I have a surplus my body can use instead of eating foods with FAT as the primary nutritional value.

And I am still eating too many carbs.  Typically this is either breakfast cereals/oatmeal, or sides like mac n cheese…or the digiorno 200 calorie portion pizzas I have as my alternative lunches when I am tired of salad or some assmunch steals said salad out of the office fridge.  (seriously, who steals a SALAD?!?)

Back to the drawing board.

So I’ve been researching.  Canadian Bacon has less fat than bacon.  EggBeaters has no fat at all.  A can of Hormel chili is cheaper, and has less fat than a package of turkey franks.  I have a Tupperware of roasted peppers, another of mushrooms, one of pizza sauce and assorted other bits and pieces stashed in the fridge because it was easier to just eat the chicken nuggets and mac n cheese (and, frankly, I have a weakness for mac n cheese).  I could do any number of things with these vegetables and a chicken breast if I would just put my mind to it.

I need to start making my own meals.  I can’t eat what the boys eat.  I need to not be lazy.  I need to take responsibility for my own health and diet.  I’ve gotten back in the gym-swing.  Now just to get the diet straight and we’ll be well on our way to healthy.

Imma win this damn Tetris game if it kills me.

We just got back from the gym.  I am drinking a smoothie and watching my FIFTY POUND (!!!) PUPPY jump on my bed.  Yes, just like a child – for no reason whatsoever other than the fact that he can – and just as happy as one.  He makes me smile.

And that has nothing to do with this blog.

My mom inadvertently, unconsciously called me fat yesterday.  She apparently wants to buy me clothes and asked what size I was.  When I told her, her response was “Oh my God, Amanda!  What happened?!?”

Yeah.  Thanks, Mom.

I deserved it tho.  I haven’t been doing what I need to be doing.

I quit smoking one smoke at a time.  At the very deepest, darkest level – quitting smoking is simply choosing not to light a cigarette, one cigarette at a time.  (I had a friend quit smoking a year and a half (or so) ago and that was what he told me when I asked how he was doing.  It helped me out a lot when I quit.)  You start off not lighting one – every five minutes…and slowly but surely you work your way up to not lighting one every five weeks…five months…five years…

Changing your diet seems, to me, to be much the same.  You just choose not to eat the cheetos…but then you have also choose not to eat the french fries…or the queso…or the loaded mashed potatoes…or the cheeseburger…or the pasta with cream sauce…or the reese’s peanut cups that are stalking you in every grocery store…or that extra buttered microwave popcorn…

And just like smoking, just because you slip up once doesn’t mean you failed.  I’m just bad at trying again.  And bad at choosing to make my own dinners when the boys want pizza/fish stix/chicken nuggets/pasta with cream sauce.    It’d help if they liked mushrooms and spinach and broccoli…  I have a desperate craving for quesadillas with spinach, mushrooms, chicken and roasted red peppers.  But they go bad before I can eat them all…effectively rendering them UN-COST-EFFECTIVE.

Another quirk of LearningToLiveTogether is merging diets.  We still haven’t figured it out, almost a year later.

I think… instead of rice-a-roni with my chicken breasts I can start having peas.  Or Lima beans.  Or corn.  I think that I need to rethink my sides.  Meat is meat is meat.  But it doesn’t have to be a starch to be a side…  More vegetables for me.

I have been having salads for lunch.  (most days… okay two/three days a week.)  Spinach with carrots, cucumbers, green apples, raisins, walnuts, extra sharp cheddar cheese and raspberry vinaigrette.  I added grilled chicken today.  I’m getting tired of the salad.  But I am over Lean Cuisines/Healthy Choice/Lean Pockets.  And frozen vegetables don’t reheat so well, and we rarely have leftovers anyway.   Are there healthy soups I can make at home and bring to work maybe?  Hopefully in another couple weeks it will be cold enough for soup to be enjoyable again… maybe.

Budget + Picky Eaters + NotALotOfTimeToMakeFood = Lost Amanda.

Maybe we could do a paycheck where everyone buys and makes their own food?  or something….

I think we might be fighting.  Or at least not speaking for fear of starting said fight.

Part of merging lives is merging *STUFF.*  It’s letting go of “mine” and letting everything become “ours.”  I’m especially bad at this game.

I don’t have much…but what I DO have I worked hard to get.  Scrimped and saved to pay for in cash.  I have always had bad credit, so aint no bitch ever gave a girl a loan, line of credit or card.  I bought my first car from a little mom and pop shop precisely because they didn’t credit check, and because they’d let me come by the shop once a month to give them cash.

On top of that, I moved around.  A lot.  More than is, or could ever be called, even remotely normal.  I got tired of lugging SHIT everywhere I went.  So each time I moved, there were things that didn’t make the cut.

What is left has survived a LOT of cuts.  And is hard to let slide into someone, ANYONE, else’s ownership – even if it IS joint custody.

So, when decisions are made regarding these things I ate ramen for months to obtain, and then lugged from place to place, to place…to place… to place… I get a little defensive.  A little protective.

Especially when there is an entire Harry-Potter-closet full of other stuff we aren’t using but can’t, for whatever reason, get rid of.  And I keep getting yelled at every time I buy anything at all.  But that is neither here nor there in this issue.

In this issue, I know I am wrong.

I remember now that I did want to throw away this item in question.  That I hadn’t touched it the entire 14 months I lived in my previous apartment…and haven’t touched it since moving in to this apartment last November.

I know I want what it’s removal will help us obtain.

But… I like knowing it’s there if I want it.  That if I get a wild hair up my ass someday, I can still go find and use it.  Much like the Nintendo I was recently gifted with…. I may only play the damn thing once a year… but if I want to, it’s there.

And its mine.  And I was TOLD what was going to happen with it rather than asked if I would mind…

So I don’t care.

I am aware I am being completely irrational.  And right now, in this moment, stuck in a place I desperately want to NOT be while the rest of my family is laying on the bed and/or playing World of Warcrack/watching TV… I don’t care.

/pout

I know I’ll come around eventually, and that irritates me too.  Knowing I’m being irrational is also irritating.  But the irritation doesn’t help me become any more rational.  It, in fact, has quite the opposite effect.

Bitches be crazy.  I know, I know.

Shut it.

You can bitch about how bitches be crazy on your own blog.

I will pout while I am here because there is really nothing else to do, and it’s as good a reason as any to not talk to those around me.

And when it’s time to go home, I will do so.  And I will finish making dinner and clean the living room and kitchen like I’d planned instead of driving around til I find a park with a swing set.

And THEN I will admit I am wrong.  And possibly that I am being irrational cause my feelings are hurt.

And then choirs will sing and sunshine part the clouds yada yada yada.

But in the meantime… I am sad and hurt and irritated and pouty and you should leave jokes/quotes/eyecandy in the comments.

web-page and life page that is…

I deleted the other blogs that were here.  They no longer fit here.  No longer belong here.

The purpose of this blog is to open our life up to those who cannot physically be part of it.  And those blogs, those words, no longer are part of our life.

And what those blogs embodied is causing me all sorts of issues.

I’ve been quasi-hiding.

I say, and mean, “quasi” because the business hasn’t been entirely manufactured.  July is always explosive for me.  Busy busy busy.  I’m HOPING it winds down after next weekend…but I’m not holding my breath either.

And I’m hiding because I don’t know what to do.

I have (at least) two more conversations to have.  Conversations that could either make other decisions infinitely more easy, or infinitely harder.

I may have to choose between friends for my wedding guest list.

Can I tell you how much that sucks?  How much knowing that if these conversations do not go well I will have lost soul-sisters, but if they DO go well I will have to choose between soul sisters for invites, blows goats?

Cause it does.

So I’m hiding here.  Kinda.

It’d be more accurate to say that I am reveling in the business that keeps me from making necessary phone calls and from overthinking the situation any more.

And there is a lot to think about…

As I settle into this with Robbie, this life, this home, this family… I have less and less time for bullshit, pettiness and drama.  I find myself wondering how MUCH effort people are worth.  (To be brutal and honest.)  …or if I’d rather spend that effort in exponentially more time chillin on the couch with my fiance and our dog watching the food network.

I’ve all but left the bar scene.  Karaoke is all but a thing of the past, simply because I am not just “lookin’ for a good time’ anymore.  I found my good time, and it’s permanant, and it’s AT HOME.  It is my home.

And I want our wedding to be a celebration of OUR new life together.  I do not want it in any way overshadowed by silent treatments or cool politeness or even -again to be brutal and honest- exuberant reconciliations.  I’ve made my piece with the fact that this is a shitty attitude for a friend who deigns to call herself a “soul sister” to have… but there it is all the same.  I’m nothing if not honest.  (99% of the time)

I want it to reflect our life.  Our life is calm.  It is chill.  It is easy and colorful and not perfect and FUN and silly and revolves around good food and alcohol.

…sigh…

And as I think about what our life is, because I’m planning a party to personify it, I am realizing more and more what it is not.

And finding a lot of clutter.

And, because I’m planning a wedding and merging two lives into one, I don’t have time or space or energy for clutter.

I have a stripped down page.  A new blog with a stripped down topic listing.  You’ll not find me discussing work here.  Work doesn’t matter.  This is specifically for our life together, from my perspective, obviously – since Im the blogger.  And if it doesn’t affect our life together, it doesn’t matter.  And if it doesn’t matter, it won’t be here.

And if it does show up here, because it does affect us, and I don’t like what I see when I re-read what I’ve written when my fingers stop and my brain slows back down… It won’t remain here.  And if it isn’t here…

It won’t remain part of our life together.

I’m turning a new page.  Staring at a fresh, new, white page and realizing that I can limit what goes onto it.