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I have been ignoring being behind and accepting my blind, cheerful laziness as just. Sometimes, though, I think of things I could say, like the 95 year old man who just wishes someone would shoot Obama already, and the gnat that flew up my nose and itched in my nasal cavity for ten minutes, and the husband--the HUSBAND--that I have all of a sudden (well, it's been going to be this way for all of my life). This guy, he works so hard to make me happy and comfortable. He puts away dishes and assembles cabinets and hangs pictures for me and in the mornings when I'm up he is suddenly at the kitchen table to join me. 'It's early! Go back to bed!' 'But I'm awake. And I want to be with you.' I could write these things, and I could mention the wedding, the drum beats in his head and the buzzing in mine, the forest of mums and ferns covering the altar, the brilliant copper color of his vest, the way the gold band looks on my ring finger, just under the one with the diamond. I tried to count the number of hugs, but there was no number, it was infinity and it was just so vast, and so was the honeymoon afterward, a trip down to sundresses and bra-less-ness and FINALLY a chance to be in the sand at the beach and feel the sun on our married faces. Snorkeling was hell on my manicure. I could just say that I'm happy, that S and I are making a home and making mistakes and moving on and getting better and there is NOTHING like pulling his head to me in the dark and listening to the rumbling of his voice from his chest as he unburies himself and as we fall asleep together intertwined.