A blogger friend of mine has this tattooed on his arm. To remind him to keep writing. Tattooed. Permanent. It's like he takes this writing thing seriously or something? What's up with that?
I admit the last couple of months I haven't been taking the writing thing seriously. I've written a whole 10 blog entries - well published a whole 10 blog entries - since March. It's been a combination of things.
First, the easy excuse to lay down is that I have kind of moved (visiting, I swear, CIC, just visiting, but hoping to move) to another country. I've left behind a good group of friends that I'd managed to develop - a community - over the last four years. I drove 2600 miles (give or take) in a short period of time (like three and a half days), and have shacked up with my Twitter love.
Well, um, last weekend we made it official. No longer just "shacking up", we married each other.
That's my second excuse. Yeah... that's it. :)
But actually, that has been another issue. Blogging - for me - sometimes is writing about nothing (that's what I promised you in the early entries!). It's about taking something small and just writing my (ideally amusing) musings. Shampoo.
These days, though, I'm not running solo, and I'm not talking about people who are anonymous and who have no idea that I'm writing about them. Now, though, if I write about those endearing idiosyncrasies, I'm talking about someone that others who read this blog know.
I admit, that this has stymied me on occasion. There have been a few blog entries gestating, gurgling, waiting to find their way to the surface, that I have squelched out of a sense of decorum.
But I need to remember my friend's tattoo (tattoo! Permanent! Still impressed by that) that I need to just write. One. Word. At. A. Time. And I know that my love loves me, and if I write something gently teasing her, that she'll still know how very much I love her. But I can also find many other topics of interest to write about too, and if I can't, then I need to get out into the world a little more. After all, I'm in a whole new country - surely I can find something amusing to write to you about.
I'll try a little harder... One word at a time. Thanks, Ken! :)
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Big Brother
So, I'm one of many people who have many email accounts. I created one a few years ago when I got a new iPhone for work to create an iTunes account that was separate from my home account. This was after I'd left my old life.
In my old life, I was a member of CostCo. Where I was geographically there was no CostCo - Sam's Club was the local warehouse store. I was no longer a member of CostCo, but at some point I started getting CostCo e-mails at the new account which I was reserving, I admit, for mostly commercial e-mail kind of stuff.
I really didn't think twice about it. Until they told me my annual renewal was coming up. I scratched my head wondering, but, again, didn't think much of it. Thought they were mistaken. Whatever.
Now I've been in Canada almost two months. And this is an account I only access on my iPhone. I may have logged in once or twice on the computer, but it isn't an account where I am particularly active.
So imagine my shock - still in quite a bit of disbelief - when a little over a week ago, CostCo sent me an email from Costco.ca. The Turbo Tax ad had a maple leaf and all.
WTF?
How did they know I'm in Canada to customize / change the emails they are sending me? At what point did they realize I'm here for longer than just a vacation? I mean really?
And since then, there have been three more e-mails from them.
Makes me wonder what communicates with what around here. Did Gmail communicate to them where I was when I opened (or frankly, just likely deleted immediately) their prior emails?
Anyone with any plausible explanations would be useful.
In my old life, I was a member of CostCo. Where I was geographically there was no CostCo - Sam's Club was the local warehouse store. I was no longer a member of CostCo, but at some point I started getting CostCo e-mails at the new account which I was reserving, I admit, for mostly commercial e-mail kind of stuff.
I really didn't think twice about it. Until they told me my annual renewal was coming up. I scratched my head wondering, but, again, didn't think much of it. Thought they were mistaken. Whatever.
Now I've been in Canada almost two months. And this is an account I only access on my iPhone. I may have logged in once or twice on the computer, but it isn't an account where I am particularly active.
So imagine my shock - still in quite a bit of disbelief - when a little over a week ago, CostCo sent me an email from Costco.ca. The Turbo Tax ad had a maple leaf and all.
WTF?
How did they know I'm in Canada to customize / change the emails they are sending me? At what point did they realize I'm here for longer than just a vacation? I mean really?
And since then, there have been three more e-mails from them.
Makes me wonder what communicates with what around here. Did Gmail communicate to them where I was when I opened (or frankly, just likely deleted immediately) their prior emails?
Anyone with any plausible explanations would be useful.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Drop the shovel...
Sometimes you just watch your friends shovel themselves into the hole that they are in. You can see the complaints coming ahead "Help! I'm stuck in a hole!" but you know if you say, "Hey, if you keep digging, you might find yourself in a hole shortly" they won't stop. And they always look surprised to find themselves in the hole.
Sometimes they'll get a rope and some help out of the hole, but often they just begin to start making steps out of the hole when, oops, there goes that damn shovel again. There they go digging like they're in that old 80s video game of Dig Dug. And there, again, is that surprise: "What? How did this happen? How did I get in this hole?"
So, next time you find yourself in a hole, and wondering how you got there, check your own hands: are you holding a shovel? Often the answer to how to get yourself out of a hole is to begin by stopping digging.
Drop the shovel. And just because you begin to get your head out of the hole and think you're out of it, don't pick up the shovel again. Look around. Is your whole body out of the hole? No? And why do you need that shovel anyway? Where exactly do you think you'll go?
This happens with relationships, with money, with possessions, with dreams, with all sorts of scenarios. We find ourselves in holes. It's natural. It happens sometimes. But for goodness' sakes, just drop the shovel. And drop the surprise. And, um, the whining. Yeah. That too. And find a way to work your way out of the hole. Chances are you didn't get in the hole overnight - it takes a long time to dig a hole deep enough for us to fit in - and chance are, then, you won't get out overnight. Do the hard work.
Sometimes they'll get a rope and some help out of the hole, but often they just begin to start making steps out of the hole when, oops, there goes that damn shovel again. There they go digging like they're in that old 80s video game of Dig Dug. And there, again, is that surprise: "What? How did this happen? How did I get in this hole?"
So, next time you find yourself in a hole, and wondering how you got there, check your own hands: are you holding a shovel? Often the answer to how to get yourself out of a hole is to begin by stopping digging.
Drop the shovel. And just because you begin to get your head out of the hole and think you're out of it, don't pick up the shovel again. Look around. Is your whole body out of the hole? No? And why do you need that shovel anyway? Where exactly do you think you'll go?
This happens with relationships, with money, with possessions, with dreams, with all sorts of scenarios. We find ourselves in holes. It's natural. It happens sometimes. But for goodness' sakes, just drop the shovel. And drop the surprise. And, um, the whining. Yeah. That too. And find a way to work your way out of the hole. Chances are you didn't get in the hole overnight - it takes a long time to dig a hole deep enough for us to fit in - and chance are, then, you won't get out overnight. Do the hard work.
Teddy Bear Nursemaid
So, I've been in Canada about a month and a half, and my poor sweet baby has had two incidences of feeling sick enough or bad enough to stay home from work. So I've had two opportunities to play nurse-maid to my sick baby.
And I must say I've done a smashing job of it. I've discovered that the job is quite easy.
Let's face it: what we need most when we are sick is rest. Sleep is the best way to allow our body time and opportunity to heal itself. So, sleep is what my baby gets. The first time she was sick - battling strep throat, she slept about 21 hours each day for about three days. I did what any good partner would do. I stayed with her while she slept. And, um, slept myself. It was, after all, a good way to allow my immune system to stay strong to avoid contracting the strep throat myself. (I could post a gruesome picture showing the infection growing on her tonsil, but I imagine she'd rather I didn't...)
Today (er, yesterday?) my baby had a horrible headache when she woke, and I did what any good girlfriend would do. I stayed in bed with her and slept while she slept it off herself.
Unfortunately, my friend insomnia decided THIS time to come visit me this evening. He thought I'd had enough rest and sleep in the last few days, particularly considering I had gone to bed early the night before myself. And so she sleeps now, in the middle of the night like she's supposed to, and I return to my old craft of blogging. The lost art.
Because I am the teddy bear nursemaid. I heal by allowing you (well, not YOU, but, the sick person who happens to be my partner) snuggle up to me like I'm your teddy bear, while we let Mother Nature do the hard work. Who needs chicken soup (particularly when your baby IS a chicken, and there's all sorts of cannibalism questions there) when you can have rest and snuggling?
And I must say I've done a smashing job of it. I've discovered that the job is quite easy.
Let's face it: what we need most when we are sick is rest. Sleep is the best way to allow our body time and opportunity to heal itself. So, sleep is what my baby gets. The first time she was sick - battling strep throat, she slept about 21 hours each day for about three days. I did what any good partner would do. I stayed with her while she slept. And, um, slept myself. It was, after all, a good way to allow my immune system to stay strong to avoid contracting the strep throat myself. (I could post a gruesome picture showing the infection growing on her tonsil, but I imagine she'd rather I didn't...)
Today (er, yesterday?) my baby had a horrible headache when she woke, and I did what any good girlfriend would do. I stayed in bed with her and slept while she slept it off herself.
Unfortunately, my friend insomnia decided THIS time to come visit me this evening. He thought I'd had enough rest and sleep in the last few days, particularly considering I had gone to bed early the night before myself. And so she sleeps now, in the middle of the night like she's supposed to, and I return to my old craft of blogging. The lost art.
Because I am the teddy bear nursemaid. I heal by allowing you (well, not YOU, but, the sick person who happens to be my partner) snuggle up to me like I'm your teddy bear, while we let Mother Nature do the hard work. Who needs chicken soup (particularly when your baby IS a chicken, and there's all sorts of cannibalism questions there) when you can have rest and snuggling?
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Old Friends...
It is natural that when you move, you may lose a few friends along the way. There are some friendships that require your presence to be maintained. And some friendships that survive the distance, and which may also survive infrequent contact. Time, often, is the only way to tell which friendships will be which.
Some old friends, though, frankly you are glad to be away from, and you hope they'll lose your number, your e-mail, and forget how to contact you.
Tonight, one of my old friends, nonetheless, whom I was hoping to leave behind has seemed to catch up with me. Yes, that's right, my old friend insomnia.... My how I've missed you. NOT. You could have stayed back in the U.S. Nothing here in Canada requires your presence. You may move on, my friend, and return from whence you came.
Insomnia when you're single and when you live alone looks different than insomnia when you're with someone else. First of all, when you're alone, and you toss and turn in your bed, at least you aren't keeping someone else awake. Second of all, then, you can stay in your own bed while you wait for insomnia to be on its way.
Sharing a bed with someone else means that there is a moment when you finally decide you can't be helping her sleep, and if you're going to continue to be wide awake, well, then, you might want to be nice to the one you sleep with and go some place else to be wide awake. Trouble is, of course, is half the time they realize you've gotten up and left, and you may not have solved anything. Except, of course, you can blog in peace without worrying about the tip tap of fingers on the keyboard waking them further and making them wonder when the hell you're gonna fall asleep so they can too.
In the time that has passed while trying to fall asleep, my mind has wandered in many different directions. But I will spare you those wanderings.
Suffice to say, my old friend, I wish you'd stayed back in the old place. And with that, my eyes begin to droop...
Some old friends, though, frankly you are glad to be away from, and you hope they'll lose your number, your e-mail, and forget how to contact you.
Tonight, one of my old friends, nonetheless, whom I was hoping to leave behind has seemed to catch up with me. Yes, that's right, my old friend insomnia.... My how I've missed you. NOT. You could have stayed back in the U.S. Nothing here in Canada requires your presence. You may move on, my friend, and return from whence you came.
Insomnia when you're single and when you live alone looks different than insomnia when you're with someone else. First of all, when you're alone, and you toss and turn in your bed, at least you aren't keeping someone else awake. Second of all, then, you can stay in your own bed while you wait for insomnia to be on its way.
Sharing a bed with someone else means that there is a moment when you finally decide you can't be helping her sleep, and if you're going to continue to be wide awake, well, then, you might want to be nice to the one you sleep with and go some place else to be wide awake. Trouble is, of course, is half the time they realize you've gotten up and left, and you may not have solved anything. Except, of course, you can blog in peace without worrying about the tip tap of fingers on the keyboard waking them further and making them wonder when the hell you're gonna fall asleep so they can too.
In the time that has passed while trying to fall asleep, my mind has wandered in many different directions. But I will spare you those wanderings.
Suffice to say, my old friend, I wish you'd stayed back in the old place. And with that, my eyes begin to droop...
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Love is Not Petty
Which is why I am out of breath from having quickly made the bed after having left it unmade all day out of pettiness.
See, I have no need on my own to make my bed - in case you haven't figured that out yet - but it is important to someone else. It makes her day start orderly.
When I sleep in - after she's left - I have made the bed. I have written in here how it is an act of love. But, I have learned to get out of the bed quickly when she does, hoping, expecting that since the making of the bed is important to her, she will make it before she goes.
Which she has.
Until this morning. She gave me an evil laugh as she walked out the door and said, "Yeah, I'm leaving it like that..."
To which petty me responded, internally, "Well, then, won't you be surprised when you come home and see that so did I?"
Luckily, I didn't say it out loud. And she's not quite yet home.
Remembering that I had stated only last week that making the bed was a way of saying "I love you", and given that she said she started her day feeling bitchy, I decided it wouldn't be particularly nice of me to leave it and have her wonder, even for a millisecond, if I didn't love her...
And here she comes through the door... :)
See, I have no need on my own to make my bed - in case you haven't figured that out yet - but it is important to someone else. It makes her day start orderly.
When I sleep in - after she's left - I have made the bed. I have written in here how it is an act of love. But, I have learned to get out of the bed quickly when she does, hoping, expecting that since the making of the bed is important to her, she will make it before she goes.
Which she has.
Until this morning. She gave me an evil laugh as she walked out the door and said, "Yeah, I'm leaving it like that..."
To which petty me responded, internally, "Well, then, won't you be surprised when you come home and see that so did I?"
Luckily, I didn't say it out loud. And she's not quite yet home.
Remembering that I had stated only last week that making the bed was a way of saying "I love you", and given that she said she started her day feeling bitchy, I decided it wouldn't be particularly nice of me to leave it and have her wonder, even for a millisecond, if I didn't love her...
And here she comes through the door... :)
The Other Voices...
When you live with someone, it doesn't take long, sometimes, to realize you now live your life under the microscope. There is someone there to hear you (and, er, smell you) when you toot. Someone who realizes that all you eat is cookies. Someone who discovers that you have no idea how to use ______. That you never ______. That you always ______. Things about yourself that you manage to hide from the world when you live alone.
In really "fun" relationships, the other person will often share their observations... usually with a little derision. And those observations stick with you. If you're really lucky, you'll hear those voices long after you no longer share space with that person. (Yes, that *was* sarcasm....)
Sometimes, even, these things end up being buttons. Things that gnaw at your self esteem, things that are buttons that others might inadvertently trip over, things that create secretive behavior.
And this is the fun awkward point of the blog entry. The point of the post where I know that if I don't admit it here that later I'm sure I'll be asked as to what prompted the post. Well.. uh... there is a bag of cookies sitting beside me. A half empty bag of cookies. And well, to admit, that last week I actually put an empty bag of cookies back into the cupboard to make it seem as if I took an extra day to finish them off.
It is funny, though, how those other voices stay in your head. So that when your significant other comes home and asks, "__________" you suddenly hear a completely different question. Suddenly that question is loaded. And you find yourself already being defensive about a question that hasn't even been asked.
It is important and yet impossible when you start a new relationship to leave the baggage at the door. To give the person that you are with an opportunity to just be themselves. To see them for them, and not for all the other people who might have come before them. To enjoy the moment. To not read more into "________" than a polite enquiry by someone who cares about you.
And as I secretively nosh on a few more cookies before she comes home, I know that the voices I hear chastising me for eating so much sugar aren't hers. They are the voices of others.
In really "fun" relationships, the other person will often share their observations... usually with a little derision. And those observations stick with you. If you're really lucky, you'll hear those voices long after you no longer share space with that person. (Yes, that *was* sarcasm....)
Sometimes, even, these things end up being buttons. Things that gnaw at your self esteem, things that are buttons that others might inadvertently trip over, things that create secretive behavior.
....
And this is the fun awkward point of the blog entry. The point of the post where I know that if I don't admit it here that later I'm sure I'll be asked as to what prompted the post. Well.. uh... there is a bag of cookies sitting beside me. A half empty bag of cookies. And well, to admit, that last week I actually put an empty bag of cookies back into the cupboard to make it seem as if I took an extra day to finish them off.
....
It is funny, though, how those other voices stay in your head. So that when your significant other comes home and asks, "__________" you suddenly hear a completely different question. Suddenly that question is loaded. And you find yourself already being defensive about a question that hasn't even been asked.
It is important and yet impossible when you start a new relationship to leave the baggage at the door. To give the person that you are with an opportunity to just be themselves. To see them for them, and not for all the other people who might have come before them. To enjoy the moment. To not read more into "________" than a polite enquiry by someone who cares about you.
And as I secretively nosh on a few more cookies before she comes home, I know that the voices I hear chastising me for eating so much sugar aren't hers. They are the voices of others.
Sunday, March 24, 2013
Life..
So, as we wind up the third month of the year, I have come to realize I have written less posts this YEAR so far than an average month last year.
Kait takes the blame.
But I don't know that I would blame her, although certainly, her presence in my life has filled up some of the holes that I used the blog to fill. (Don't over-analyze that too much, I don't want to...)
Some of it, I will admit, is when I am inspired, I may be spending time with her, and it's not the same as spending time with oneself to pull away and write. Like before I wrote that last sentence, which I had composed in my head, she put her head on my computer and smiled at me and suddenly all I wanted to do was close this window and kiss her. Except she's been sick. Or last night, when I was having this wonderful inspiration, but I didn't want to get out of bed to write it. Not only didn't I want to wake myself, but I didn't want to risk waking her.
But frankly, that's as much an excuse as anything (except these last few days she's been home sick) because frankly I have five days - ALL DAY - when she isn't here. When I would have plenty of time, to say, have a full-time job, let alone write a silly little blog like this.
It's been two weeks, and I feel fairly at home here. Kind of surprising but really kind of nice.
Canada is still a foreign country, but I have lost track of how many hockey games I have watched - either in full or even partial while flipping (kindly) from some place else. I am learning how to translate Celsius to get an idea - 10 degrees is now warm. Still trying not to pay attention to the fact that there are 3.78liters litres to the gallon and at $1.39 per litre, gas is OVER $5/gallon. I have made it to the library. Twice. Getting a refresher in French by reading labels at the grocery.
(Yes, by the way, there IS a Canuck's game on, so Kait is not paying as close attention to me as she might otherwise... Given the consolidated hockey schedule, I probably have EVEN more time to write, and there is even less reason to blame Kait).
But when I think about where I was a year ago... it is such a different place from where I am now. I had no idea my life would change so much in such a short amount of time, but really, I give myself a break and recognize that this change was a long time coming.
I miss some parts of my old life. Some people, mostly. But I am happy here. I am getting into routines (see my last post).
Tomorrow - if she's feeling better and goes to work - I will try to reinsert this whole blog-writing thing back into my routines. Because I still have things to say and share.
Even if life (or Kait) gets in the way.... ;)
Kait takes the blame.
But I don't know that I would blame her, although certainly, her presence in my life has filled up some of the holes that I used the blog to fill. (Don't over-analyze that too much, I don't want to...)
Some of it, I will admit, is when I am inspired, I may be spending time with her, and it's not the same as spending time with oneself to pull away and write. Like before I wrote that last sentence, which I had composed in my head, she put her head on my computer and smiled at me and suddenly all I wanted to do was close this window and kiss her. Except she's been sick. Or last night, when I was having this wonderful inspiration, but I didn't want to get out of bed to write it. Not only didn't I want to wake myself, but I didn't want to risk waking her.
But frankly, that's as much an excuse as anything (except these last few days she's been home sick) because frankly I have five days - ALL DAY - when she isn't here. When I would have plenty of time, to say, have a full-time job, let alone write a silly little blog like this.
It's been two weeks, and I feel fairly at home here. Kind of surprising but really kind of nice.
Canada is still a foreign country, but I have lost track of how many hockey games I have watched - either in full or even partial while flipping (kindly) from some place else. I am learning how to translate Celsius to get an idea - 10 degrees is now warm. Still trying not to pay attention to the fact that there are 3.78
(Yes, by the way, there IS a Canuck's game on, so Kait is not paying as close attention to me as she might otherwise... Given the consolidated hockey schedule, I probably have EVEN more time to write, and there is even less reason to blame Kait).
But when I think about where I was a year ago... it is such a different place from where I am now. I had no idea my life would change so much in such a short amount of time, but really, I give myself a break and recognize that this change was a long time coming.
I miss some parts of my old life. Some people, mostly. But I am happy here. I am getting into routines (see my last post).
Tomorrow - if she's feeling better and goes to work - I will try to reinsert this whole blog-writing thing back into my routines. Because I still have things to say and share.
Even if life (or Kait) gets in the way.... ;)
Friday, March 22, 2013
Domesticated....
Hmm... as my hands dry from the third .. or is it fourth?.. time washing dishes today, I can't help but wonder how I became domesticated so quickly.
Think of me - generally - as having more the habits of a guy (I know, guys, you're probably better than me, so forgive me the insult). For the last three years, I've lived alone. Answered to no-one, had few guests, and so chores were, well, optional. Except laundry. Don't worry, I did laundry. Although I did learn how to make certain items of clothing last longer.... (I also own many, many, many pairs of underwear.. oops TMI)
Make my bed? Why? I was gonna be back in it later that night.. Aw hell, who am I kidding? If I was at home, I'd be back in it within a few minutes, getting out usually just to go to the fridge or the bathroom or something. I was the only one using my toilet, and I had no pets (for the most part), so there was no reason to put the lid down. My bathroom was spacious enough it wasn't as if I had things above the toilet waiting to fall in. As long as I could get back and forth to the fridge and the bathroom and the front door, who really cared if there were clothes, or books or other things on other parts of the floor? If I had plenty of clean dishes (and I had plenty of sets of dishes) what was the rush in washing the dishes?
Well, I wasn't necessarily that bad...
Oh, wait, that's right, my girl reads this, I can't get away with that...
But it's been just under two weeks here, and I have been quite domesticated. If I'm still in bed when she leaves in the morning, I make the bed. (Usually not until about 3 PM or so, but still...). And if she's here, I often help her make it. I've learned to put the lid down on the toilet because the bathroom is, shall we say, cozy. I don't always get it right. I've learned to pull the shower curtain shut before drying my towel, so that it won't get mildewy on the bottom. And, I've learned how to wash dishes after every meal (or right before she comes home, whichever works...), and put the dishes away, even.
I have been domesticated.
It's not necessarily a bad thing. I'm not sure if I ended up living on my own again any time soon (and I'm not hoping for this, understand) I'd probably quickly revert to my slovenly ways. Because I understand very well what the motivation is for doing them now. (Hopefully you haven't eaten any time soon, because I might make you gag....) The motivation is "Love".
Now, it would *PROBABLY* be more loving if I didn't point it out every time she came home, "Hey, babe? Look, I made the bed! You know what this says?" She's started to roll her eyes at this point, and frankly, I can't blame her... "It says, 'I love you!'"
I do these things because it makes HER happy. And that's reason enough. And that, my friends, is how I have become domesticated.
P.S. I'm sure I still have quite a ways to go... but I am a work in progress at least... ;)
Think of me - generally - as having more the habits of a guy (I know, guys, you're probably better than me, so forgive me the insult). For the last three years, I've lived alone. Answered to no-one, had few guests, and so chores were, well, optional. Except laundry. Don't worry, I did laundry. Although I did learn how to make certain items of clothing last longer.... (I also own many, many, many pairs of underwear.. oops TMI)
Make my bed? Why? I was gonna be back in it later that night.. Aw hell, who am I kidding? If I was at home, I'd be back in it within a few minutes, getting out usually just to go to the fridge or the bathroom or something. I was the only one using my toilet, and I had no pets (for the most part), so there was no reason to put the lid down. My bathroom was spacious enough it wasn't as if I had things above the toilet waiting to fall in. As long as I could get back and forth to the fridge and the bathroom and the front door, who really cared if there were clothes, or books or other things on other parts of the floor? If I had plenty of clean dishes (and I had plenty of sets of dishes) what was the rush in washing the dishes?
Well, I wasn't necessarily that bad...
Oh, wait, that's right, my girl reads this, I can't get away with that...
But it's been just under two weeks here, and I have been quite domesticated. If I'm still in bed when she leaves in the morning, I make the bed. (Usually not until about 3 PM or so, but still...). And if she's here, I often help her make it. I've learned to put the lid down on the toilet because the bathroom is, shall we say, cozy. I don't always get it right. I've learned to pull the shower curtain shut before drying my towel, so that it won't get mildewy on the bottom. And, I've learned how to wash dishes after every meal (or right before she comes home, whichever works...), and put the dishes away, even.
I have been domesticated.
It's not necessarily a bad thing. I'm not sure if I ended up living on my own again any time soon (and I'm not hoping for this, understand) I'd probably quickly revert to my slovenly ways. Because I understand very well what the motivation is for doing them now. (Hopefully you haven't eaten any time soon, because I might make you gag....) The motivation is "Love".
Now, it would *PROBABLY* be more loving if I didn't point it out every time she came home, "Hey, babe? Look, I made the bed! You know what this says?" She's started to roll her eyes at this point, and frankly, I can't blame her... "It says, 'I love you!'"
I do these things because it makes HER happy. And that's reason enough. And that, my friends, is how I have become domesticated.
P.S. I'm sure I still have quite a ways to go... but I am a work in progress at least... ;)
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