Blame it on the bossanova

I am such a fucking sap. Seriously.

So, it was around this time last year that things between Daddy and me started cooking. As with all significant life experiences, I like to review my journal from the previous year with all the goings-on. (Sometimes, I go back for years and years, just to really see the change.) [sidenote: Blogging has almost effectively killed my journal. That and being happy most of the time. Who knew?]

It's really funny. I had all these trepidations about us getting back together again, but essentially I was over the MOON like every day. And the funny thing is that not much has really changed. I have reservations about us being together, but most of the time I'm pretty much over the moon.

Well, okay. I'm not over the moon anymore but I really do love him and I really do feel like I have a better understanding about what it means to be in love than I did before. It's not really just about the ooey gooey four pages of adjectives about your partners attributes, it's about the four pages of things that would ordinarily make you strangle a regular person but that you somehow are able to tolerate and even occasionally appreciate in your partner. That's when you really know. When you're not getting booty on a regular basis and you're still happy, it might be love. When your partner is in a bad mood for a month and indirectly takes it out on you and you're still whispering sweet nothings in their ear, it might be love. When your partner is so transparent to you that you see through him more easily than you do windows and yet he STILL manages to surprise you, it might be love.

The fact is that things aren't always sunshine and roses with my honey. Some days, I'd be willing to settle for rain and thorns because things are so gristly. But the fact remains that there's no one else I want to go through the bad times with than him. The good times just seem THAT much better and they're already pretty good. Bringing on more facts, it's not like he's the only available apple in the orchard. I've had indications from other apples that they're prime for the picking. But he's the apple of MY eye and I would never ever do anything to jeopardize that. The other apples can rot and fall off the tree for all I care. Seriously.

I'm going to try to keep the mush crap to a minimum, but I realized today that I'm pretty content most of the time and that's a damned far sight better than most people. There are things I wish that were different about me and my life and so forth, but if this is what I have to "settle for" then let me be the spokeswoman for settling because it's pretty damned good from here!

Yours in ooey-gooeyness...
HP