I have apologized to my coworkers for being such a flaming bitch during the entire month of February. I think my mood will be much better in March, especially once I refill my Ativan prescription. The snow is gone, the sun is out, and I don't have to wear snow boots anymore; how interesting that my mood is directly related to how cute I am able to look. For instance, today is all about the Naughty Librarian With Red Pumps. I feel fabulous; I look fabulous. I smell good.
Happy Tuesday to all!
So I think my sister L- will be moving back in with dad. He seems to think she's on solid ground, but is worried that my brother in law is about to lose it. (As am I; though he's a very cool guy, he is rather regimented. And we all know what happens when regimented people crack their shit up.) While I'm concerned for everyone back in LA - especially my dad, who is SO not prepared to have one of his daughters move back in with him and put a crimp in his 66-year old bachelor lifestyle - my thoughts naturally, of course, turn to me. What does my sister's divorce mean to me??
My bottom line: Sweet lord, I'm so glad I'm not married! Marriage is apparently crazy-making. It carries a psychological and cultural expectation of permanence that doesn't encourage one to be in the Now - it's all about two inexorably bound timelines that stretch waaaaay into the future. Like, into Eternity. That is a lot of pressure. And I'm so glad I don't have it!
I mean, yes. I love M-. He is my guy. But we live in two different spaces. We spend days apart doing our own thing. Our timelines, while running alongside each other's for a bit, aren't bound. They can diverge, oh yes they can. There is no expectation of Eternity. Oh, there's an expectation of mutual monogamy (though we've tentatively discussed other arrangements - as well as mutually decided our relationship is too new for us to get too creative with its structure.) But there's no expectation of frakking Eternity.
I try to imagine myself married and I can't get past imagining what I'll wear to the courthouse for a civil ceremony. (I'm thinking a creamy, soft suit with nipped in jacket and pencil skirt and some kind of nifty hat. And really really hot shoes. And nude fishnets.) Or, if I get past that, I think of the small, intimate afternoon luncheon at a nice French restaurant afterward. Then that's it. My imagination goes dark.
Anyway, I know there are a few among all 15 of my readers who enjoy their marital state and this is not to say y'all are chumps. I think y'all are champs!
You have chosen, however, a life structure that confuses me to the core.
Ok, it's after 9. Carry on!