because nothing zaps the quest for productivity like a severe thunderstorm and a cold one.
I was able to eat a sub sandwich with miss talya strader yesterday. and you didn’t. for an hour and 15, she was all mine. suckas.
i think i finally understand the difference between Inspiration and Intelligensia. woohoo!
All conversation was pleasant. Only during the “Chris touches me too much allhewantstodoiscuddle,” did i became enraged. That is cruelty to animals, Strader. I hope you’re happy. Hours later, halfway through bowel #1 at Mongolian BBQ, I finished the thought with a handful of tears confirming suspicions that Seth has finally driven me completely mental.
I rarely say anything serious on here anymore, mostly because it’s not 2004 and I’m way too famous, but marriage, my friends, is really hard. (Extra! Extra!)
Don’t freak out. This is a teachable moment.
When you’re not getting the affection you need (some of us … i won’t name names … require an inhuman amount,I know, but still) it hurts. Like a swollen, scratchy throat. Like a sinus headache. Every time you breath, the damn stuffiness again. Always the stuffiness.
So that’s been my excuse now for more and more, re: coming home, enjoying supper, paying bills, mowing, laundry, sleeping normal hours — and it’s given me pity rights to sit out on some of the manual labor in the fields (during prime construction season, even) I’m depressed or something? I forget what I said.
On top of this, lazy wife tends to kill all sprouts in Seth’s Greenhouse of Husbandly Affection, as I have tenderly named our home. In fewer words, seth and i determined over chain-restaurant stir-fry that soon, barring significant change, they might build a highway overpass over us.
It’s good to hash through another conversation like this. We agreed to try to go three days each — me as one engaged in life and he as one affectionating on his tiny wife (see? who wouldn’t want that?!) — and then we’ll have a fight and try to stick it out for four days. Thus far, everything is going according to plan. By 2024, we’ll have, like, 10 days.
He said something that started “do you want to know what’s really sexy about you?” and the whole restaurant got to see me escape to the car to hide my tears. I don’t know. Maybe I really did want to know the thing that was sexy about me. Maybe it was PMS? Anyway, I should really get over this whole crying thing because it seems to be pretty much beyond my control and/or happening much more frequently in my advanced age. I’m depressed or something? I forget what I said.
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