I've been wanting to write for so long but with so little to say it seems pointless just to write so I can hear the keys clacking... But there is so much comfort in that. Back when I used to journal (how old-fashioned) I derived the same comfort from my pen scratching across the page.

Since so few people stop by the blog anymore, sometimes I think about being full on honest about all the thoughts that go through my head. But then I think -- you never know and it's better just to keep it all in.

Maybe it's the weather. Maybe it's Lori's fault. Maybe it's the fact that Scott and I are combining all of our crap and I haven't seen my floor in two weeks. Maybe it's the bossanova. Ha ha. I don't know. But I haven't been feeling like myself lately.

I feel boring. I feel naggy. I feel confused.

The naggy is particularly hard, but I know that I AM naggy and can't seem to turn it off. It's just that the things that drive me so crazy are realistically little things -- but would also be little things for him to change/fix/resolve/whatever. The laundry area is 2 FEET from his side of the bed but yet the clothes can't seem to make it there. I have to get up extra early in order to not have us on top of each other in the bathroom. And we're both irritated with one another WAY more often than seems right for newly married people.

And never at the same time.

I think that there's irritation in newlywed life, they just don't include it in those diamond ads.

And it's NOT that I'm unhappy by any stretch, but I am pretty irritated a fair amount of the time. I started smoking more to combat the feelings and to try to self-impose a time out to think about whether I want to go off on the things that bug me or just let them roll.

I still haven't mastered that.

Okay. Want to write more but have to dash for dinner with Mom and Pop.

More sooner than usual -- promise!!

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