Josh bought condoms. And he was very much the initiator of sex yesterday. So all is well.

On another issue, I asked him seriously how he would feel about living away from his family and raising our kids outside of Kentucky. The thing is, I’m not really going to have a chance to use a film degree in Kentucky - we’re talking slim to none. I do have other talents that I can use here, like my photography and web designing. But after spending a solid $150,000 outside of scholarships on a degree, I feel like I wouldn’t be doing myself justice to let it go to waste. Plus, I chose this major for a reason - this is what I want to do.

He says he’ll go anywhere I go, and that he’d prefer New York/New Jersey or Florida, so he’s a little closer to family than he would be in Texas or California. I’d like to at least try it, before inevitably coming back to Kentucky and allowing my degree to collect dust. But the problem is that I DO want to get married in Kentucky. So what are we going to do? Live here for a year after I graduate, get married, and THEN move off to try and get me a job? That’ll look super on a resume, I’m sure. But it doesn’t make sense to move out of Kentucky right after I graduate, then come back just for the wedding. I can’t imagine how difficult it would be to plan and buy for the wedding from 800 miles away.

I guess we’ll figure it out eventually. I just wish I knew where our life was going to be located, because then maybe everything else could fall into place.

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While I was slaving away at work last night, folding t-shirts and putting away returns for a gross of $7.20 an hour, I had an epiphany. It’s always been in my head, but I never let it really touch me until last night.

I have always been a perfectionist, and have always longed for future perfection. For as long as I can remember I’ve dreamt of having the perfect life: the perfect house, perfect job, plenty of money — oh, let’s not forget the money I’ve dreamt about — and even more recently, the perfect husband and kids.

And although I’ve read the statement and heard people say it a million times, I didn’t realize until last night just how little all of that perfection matters.

I have spent way too much of my life planning for a perfect future that I have a slim chance of ever achieving. And I realized my time should not be spent looking at house plans or making budgets for money I don’t even earn yet. It should be spent enjoying what I have now. Seems simple enough, right? Well, I guess I’m a little slow. But I get it now.

What’s more is that I am slowly letting money fall from the pedestal I’ve held it on for so long. Money is not meant to be kept in a savings account for all eternity. What’s the point? It’s meant to be spent. Yes, I realize there are some important things money needs to be saved for and spent on. But I’m not going to spend half my life saving all of my money to build a dream house that I probably won’t ever realistically be able to afford. And you know what? I’d be content with whatever fits my needs. That’s all. To have just enough.

And I have all the savings I need right now - for our honeymoon, and for an emergency. So last night I bought Sydney and Cameron some giant coloring books and new crayons, and today (after consulting Josh) I bought myself an $800 digital SLR.

Expect me to be joyously posting pictures more frequently. (It’s amazing how good spending money can make me feel.)

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I’m so tired of feeling shitty all the time when it comes to Josh. I love the boy to death, it’s just, sometimes he does or says things that make me feel not-so-great. The problem is that he doesn’t mean to, and it shouldn’t even be a big deal. It’s all me, blowing things out of proportion and taking offense. But then he also doesn’t know how to say the right things to make it better, so I just go on feeling bitter.

The other day, Josh said something that basically alluded to my vagina being looser than it was when we first started having sex. Well, I know that OF COURSE that’s going to happen, but for some reason I was upset by this. I let it drop at the time. But last night, when he crawled into bed after work, I just had to bring it up again in my evil, self-loathing way. He just clammed up and rolled over, which was totally the wrong move. I even TOLD him he should’ve said something like, “No, honey, that’s not what I meant,” or at least deny it. That would’ve made me feel better. But he just continued to be quiet. I finally asked him if he was going to be silent every time I said something he didn’t like. He just briefly said he meant no offense - but he still didn’t try to correct the “loose vagina” comment or make me feel better about it.

I took it a step further. “Is that why you don’t want to have sex with me anymore?” He just said “What?” and I told him that’s how I’d been feeling lately. I asked him if it was something else, then, and he just said “No” - which doesn’t actually deny the idea that he doesn’t want to have sex, just that there’s no reason. And then he was silent and rolled over again.

Before I fell asleep, I thought of the rest of the things I wanted to say to him. “So why did you not buy condoms one night, then get so drunk you COULDN’T have sex with me the next? I feel like you may have had sex with me on our anniversary out of obligation.” But I didn’t say any of it, because I knew I’d be left disappointed and more bitter by his response.

I know we should talk this out, but every time I try to talk, like I said, he just says all the wrong things or just doesn’t say the right things to help me pick up the pieces of my ego again. I don’t know what to do.

I figure the best way to handle this particular situation is to do kegel exercises 3285 times a day, then let him be the one to initiate sex and/or condom purchases, and see how long it takes. Then if it takes too long, I just kill him. Or something.

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When I got off work today, I was hungry. And Jennifer had said she was going to pick up some pizzas for dinner. So when it was time to clock out, I bolted home.

When I got here, I was met by my lovely fiance, but the pizza was not here yet. Jennifer left to get them about an hour before Josh had to go to work. 6:30 came along, and Josh had to leave, but Jennifer wasn’t back yet. In fact, she didn’t get back until twenty minutes later. But she had a good reason.

Apparently, on her way home, a momma cat was crossing the road - with a kitten in her mouth. The car in front of her managed to swerve and miss her, but unfortunately, my animal-loving sister did not. When she walked in the door more than an hour after leaving, she had two little white fluff balls in one hand. I thought, Oh god, she’s brought ferrets into the house now. Only she would delay dinner to get new pets.

Well, of course, it was the two kittens that were left behind. There was no way Jennifer could’ve left them out there all alone, especially since she was the one that killed their mom and sister (accidentally). She was bawling her eyes out when she came in the living room, so I took the kittens from her to examine them.

They are both solid white. They aren’t more than two weeks old, as only one of them has one eye open and they’re not walking. They do seem to be well-taken care of, though, so I think they’ll be alright under our care. Mom and Jennifer went out to take the boys some pizza at work and pick up some kitten milk and bottles to feed them with. Right now they’re on a towel in a cardboard box in the middle of the kitchen table, where Diesel, our lab/husky mutt, can’t get to them. He’s a big sweetie, but you never know when he might try to eat something that small.

The kittens are sleeping, but one of them keeps waking up and mewing. I think it’s hungry. One is a boy, one is a girl. We’ll probably keep them, but they’ll go outside once they’re old enough. We really don’t need any more pets in the house. But I agree - we need to take care of them right now. They can’t take care of themselves.

Poor things. I’m always worried I’ll hit something on my way to or from work. I’d be upset if it was a cat, deer, skunk, anything. A life is a life, you know?

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Dear Josh,

Can you believe that as of last night, we’ve been together an entire year? 366 days, actually, since this year was a leap year. But I am still not tired of your lips. Or the way you hug me. Or the way you look at me, or kiss my stomach, or open the car door for me every single time I get in.

Maybe it doesn’t seem like we’ve been together this long, because for about eight months of the past year, we’ve been separated while I was off at college. But I think it’s been good that we were apart, because only being able to talk - and not be physical - has helped us get to know each other. The first semester I was gone, we talked on the phone every single night I didn’t have a late class, and during that time was when I fell in love with you. The next semester, being across the ocean somehow helped us both express our most intimate emotions to each other, even though it was only through a webcam. I missed you so much, it physically hurt on some nights. I have you with me right now, though, and eventually, I’ll have you forever.

Yesterday, our anniversary, was both horrible and wonderful. It started out as a nightmare - the complete opposite of how I’d envisioned the day beginning. The night before, for some reason, you drank way too much and got sick, and passed out downstairs with a trash can instead of in bed with me. I was angry. I cried most of the night. But when I realized you wouldn’t be coming upstairs for the rest of the night, I grabbed my blanket and slept down there with you on the other couch, because I couldn’t stand being apart from you knowing you were in the same house. Even though I was angry. I think that’s called unconditional love.

We didn’t speak for a few hours after you woke up. We both just cried a lot, and you would whisper, “I’m sorry.” For a while, I just thought about all the ways you had upset me, fueling my own anger. I could’ve remained silent for a while longer, waiting for it all to eventually go away, as I’ve done with problems in the past. But I care too much about you to let unresolved issues simmer below the surface for days or years or decades. So, after several false starts, I started to tell you how your actions made me feel. I asked you to look at me. And then I knew you were listening, and you understood what I was trying to do by having this painful talk. And it worked. It was as if everything was almost instantly perfect again, and not because we’d ignored the problem. We worked through it. And now, I know we can talk through anything that comes our way.

So we showered, went to a nice dinner at Ruby Tuesday’s, and saw Hancock. Then we came home and made love, and before I fell asleep last night, I knew I’d never been happier.

I’m looking forward to many more anniversaries with you, darling.

Love,

Michelle

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