First things first. Excuse the dust. I need some color in my life. Loch is nitpicking my ideas to death now and says it isn't quite right yet so if things shift around a bit(which they will, as I revert back to the old design here in the interim), have patience and please feel free to write to me if something is borked or huge or impossible to see or sure, just write to me if you're just solidly convinced I got married over the weekend.
Because I didn't.
Besides, he's American and I'm Canadian. I'm not sure you can just run off and get married anywhere you want. Besides that even, I haven't had enough time and I don't think I want to be Elizabeth Taylor and maybe Ben and I fight too much to make this into anything super-permanent but this is a relationship in it's infancy, starting over from scratch. Let's just enjoy the sweetness of it and not rush anything. I wore the ring from when I got there until I was home because I didn't want to lose it. That's it. I'm conspiracy-weary.
I would tell you every last detail if I had married Ben. Because I love you and you've hung in there through hundreds of very unhappy entries. I would never deny you a happy one, if I had it.
When I have it.
I don't mean marriage, I mean happiness.
Digression. Okay. So excuse the dust and excuse the rumors. And yes, I would marry the guy. Possibly. Eventually. Maybe. I don't know. Think he wants me?
Things are good. I unpacked. All was well. Sometime this afternoon when I got up the water pressure seemed low. I filled an extra pitcher and the kettle and peeked outside for trucks. Nothing. Then the internet went out. Then my cellphone had no service.
I was thinking rapture, perhaps? I called John on the archaic land line and he said not to worry. So I walked the dog and when I came back all was indeed well. It was a hiccup in my greater universe, and now as I wash some dishes and prepare to do a few loads of bedding and winter gear I eye the taps suspiciously because I'm no longer sure I trust them quite one hundred percent to give me a roaring torrent of precious city water. I keep reminding the guys that if I cut out on ICQ or they can't reach me on my phone to call the house or just pop by, that things are weird lately. They laugh and tell me I'm silly.
Just like Ben does, as he makes absolutely no effort to deny the rumors currently swirling around, a hiccup unto himself, that one. Low pressure, perfectly reliable but regarded with suspicion.
Hmm. I just turned my boyfriend into an allegory involving the water supply.
Which means Bridget needs more sleep. Goodnight, folks.
