Feeling: silly and happy
Listening to: Everything You Want - Vertical Horizon
Reading/Watching: GRE prep. study, study, study.

So mon coeur and I have (as of yesterday) been married for nine months.

How did we commemorate this day, you ask? Well, we worked opposite shifts at our respective jobs so that we barely saw each other, skated by with minimal personal hygiene, and then proceeded to have freakish nightmares.

I'll backpedal. This weekend, we drove to Hometown to buy my new(used) car. Same make and model as my old one, only five years newer, with working brakes, new tires, 1/7 the miles, an engine that doesn't rattle like an epileptic kitten at twenty miles per hour, shocks that actually absorb shock, and no massive dent in the rear corner where a tree bit it. Plus, this one's stereo hasn't been stolen yet. She is lovely, but she will be Nameless Fetus Car until I get her repainted the proper shade of green (gray is so blah. seriously.) and decorated in a suitable style.

On the way there, and the way home, for some reason mon coeur and I decided to bicker like old women. Over stupid, stupid stuff. Then we would admit that it was indeed stupid, stupid stuff and apologize and try to forget about it. But the tension remained, because fighting between us is still rare enough that it's hard to shake off.

So on Monday, the actual anniversary (nine-versary? neptiversary? hemi-demi-semi-versary?), he left for work unwashed at 6 a.m. (still no running water), I went to the gym and worked out, then showered (thank God we bit the bullet and got that gym membership), and left for work before he got home. After work, I was too tired to do much, especially since I would be getting up at 5:30 to go shower at the gym again before work at 7 a.m.

But that night, mon coeur dreamed that we were traveling through a kingdom where the king was an evil despot and got to have anything he wanted. So in mon coeur's dream, the king wanted me (because he was into chubby curly schizoid girls who forget to pluck their eyebrows), and I couldn't refuse (because in the dream, apparently I was incapable of saying fuck off and running away). Then, of course, the Dirty Old King got me pregnant, and I came to my husband in a panic, and he woke horrified. Thus ends my plans to seduce royalty for personal gain. Eh bien.

After comforting his midnight fears, I had my own dream of tripping on the sidewalk, falling on my hands, and shattering my wedding ring. The emerald was still intact, but the delicate gold setting had broken into pieces, and the little diamonds were scattered on the pavement, too small to pick up. I was sobbing, and mon coeur tried to tell me "We'll fix it, we'll fix it" but I insisted that fixing it would ruin it, because soldering it back together would melt the carvings and loopdies in the gold (it's very detailed, if you've never looked at it for long), and for some reason that meant I had failed him, and destroyed the beautiful delicate thing he had given me to keep safe.

So I woke equally disturbed, and decided that since we both had funky impractical nightmares involving the destruction of things that symbolized our relationship, clearly we're still meant for each other.

In closing, yay for that. If I'd gotten knocked up on our wedding night, I'd be due right about now. That's how long we've been married. I don't know why that feels so cool, but it does. Even cooler than knowing that on Valentine's Day we'll have been "together" for three years. So there you go.

P.S. Our water came back on about five minutes after I started my shift at work today. Punkasses, making me wake up at 5:30.

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