He has not made me feel worthless, once.
I have been unbelievably happy for days.
I love him.
I love waking up to him.
I love falling asleep to him.
I love everything.
I love this.
I want this forever.
I will do this forever.
I am the happiest I’ve ever been.
I’ve waited for tomorrow almost everyday, for two years. Shit, y’all, shit.
Thirty hours.
Three days.
Trying real hard to be a good person but I’ll be fucked if some folks aren’t making it real fucking hard these days.
I’m wishing them the worst.
The absolute worst.
I said once that I disliked Spring. It’s usually an awful season, in Houston. You practically wade through pollen. The air’s thick with lovebugs. It’s humid. It’s hot.
But this one’s kind of nice. There’ve been monsoons and fronts and cool days. The clouds have been amazing: Pillars and proud puffs of white. The air has regularly smelled like honeysuckle and sweet peas and green tea.
I can get behind this sort of weather. [I’m hoping we have seasons this year…]
I hope everyone’s doing all right.
I know it’s been pretty stressful and painful, lately, for most. I’m bad at talking, but I’m real good at thinking fondly of folks.
One week. Exactly seven days and one hour and a half. I’m beside myself.
I’m a creative person and my life is killing me.
WebMD thinks I’m pregnant.
Yes.
With a new Universe.
