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My husband and I have officially been together for 16 years (married for thirteen). I’m 32, so that means that we’ve been together for half my life.
I know who I am better when I’m around my husband. Not that I’m always in the mood to be someone happy around him, but I think that’s really the point. I don’t have to put on different colors around him.
Best of all, I can say the weirdest, sickest, messed up things around him, and nothing shocks him. If you know me at all, you can guess what sorts of weird sick things I might come up with. Then think SICKER, WEIRDER, AND MORE MESSED UP. Then you’re starting to get close.
He made a comment recently about dying young. And I told him to hurry up so I can remarry while I’m still young and hot.
But the truth is I can’t imagine starting over with someone else. All the uncomfortable getting-to-be-comfortable-with-you crap. No thanks.
I just hate that some days I’ve used up the nice and friendly piece of me before I ever get to see him and he gets stuck with the bitchy, cranky, headache afflicted me.
For some reason, when I sat down to write this post, I thought I was coming up with something really transcendental.
These thoughts aren’t new. But they’re true. And I’m grateful for the half of my life we’ve been together.
Have you ever had one of those moments driving down the road, where the modern age just sort of kicks you upside the head?
The fact that I can hurtle my body around at 60 miles an hour… and use invisible digital waves to talk to people on my cell phone.
Blows my mind.
