I spent last night cleaning like a madwoman and now I just want to sit in front of Law and Order and eat gourmet olives and easymac and do nothing. So that’s what I’m doing. And surfing. You know I had a whole list of blogs I used to enjoy reading and now I only really still like one (smababy.blogspot.com) or two (www.dooce.com) of them. Things are getting boring online. I need some new blogs to read.
I’m moving finally back home. By home I mean his apartment, mine is still not inhabitable, although I’ve paid rent the last three months. Thus, the cleaning. I don’t want the guy who owns this place to see how disgusting we had it. Really we are dis-gusting. It works out well that way, but I’m not used to being the clean one in a relationship. Or the less intelligent one. Who would have thought? I mopped and swept and scrubbed and packed. This place is tons nicer than our, but it’s just not home. There was something, I felt it the few moments when we went back to get a few changes of clothes. Something, even with water all over the floor and month-old ravioli dishes in the sink. Even with that horrible smell pervading everything, and having to walk up four flights because the power was out, still something nice and just home about it. That’s what I miss. Maybe we’ll make it into a real place to live. The fema guy was funny. He thought the hurricane had messed up our furniture, but err, no this is it, guy. This is all you need.
The news said yesterday that you can’t keep that just in love thing for more than one year. We are at the cutoff. Biologically impossible to feel this way for more than a year, some neurobioendocrinologicphysicist discovered. That’s a sad thought. I thought it might stay like this forever. I mean, a year’s a long time, right? Long enough for this just to be it. ngf. Maybe he can find a cure for it. Patent and market it. Would you take something to keep feeling that head-over-heels-in-love thing? Con-stantly wanting to rip off their clothes. I don’t know. As much as I would be devastated if this changed, I want it to be natural, not artificial.
Christmas is here again. Well, almost. I’m buying everything online, there’s really no where to shop here. I’m buying him a Twisted Sister tshirt. My mom didn’t think that was enough. Then she goes, oh, your afraid he’s not going to give you something nice. Like she figured it out. But that’s not it at all. I don’t want things like that to matter in our relationship. I could honestly care less about presents. He is my present every day. He’ll love the shirt.
