Confessions

So, I'm addicted to Lord Beefhammer.

And I haven't given up on food and sleep in order to write.

I have yet to unpack any of my book boxes (but I did finish the laundry this weekend, except ironing).

Spaghetti is a rather messy food to eat. You can come away from a spaghetti meal and have clean clothes if you're careful, but, over time, you will notice little red spots on table, wall, ornamental objects, telephone cords, etc. You can't escape. It's true.

Today the bank is closed. I would call the trip down there a waste except I got a nice little walk out of it. They haven't grasped the concept of my marriage and subsequent name change, though they have all proper documentation to prove said status. If I didn't work in a paper pushing job where things that shouldn't happen do sometimes happen, I'd get all huffy and mad at them for messing up.

A guy at the gas station didn't get the concept of my marriage bands, either, until I turned down his lunch invitation with an explanation of said bands. He seemed nice enough, though. Hm. 'Nice enough' for I'm not sure what, but not nice enough for anything having to do with me.

Trey and I have expressed shock to each other over the quickly approaching Thanksgiving holiday, our first together (at all). We've already been married over five weeks! That's not long compared to my grandparents' 62 years, but it's a long time for us, having never been married to each before. Some things are relative.