I haven't been blogging because I felt guilty about writing such negative posts, so I tried to think of something positive to say. Six weeks later I'm back to say, "screw it."
Once upon a time I moved to Iceland. I got: semi-screwed over by a university, two jobs that I hated, a hamster, engaged, and then decided that moving to Texas would be the best way to embark on this new chapter. If you're new here, this is typical of the kinds of life decisions I make.
Oddly enough, I'm still not at all scared of getting married. I moved overseas to live with this guy after having spent all of seven consecutive days dating him while physically in the same city, so the whole legally binding contract sealed with a kiss thing is the least stressful leap we've had to make during the course of our relationship.
But tonight, I finally talked to my guy about one thing that I really am scared of when it comes to marriage. I brought it up between episodes of various sitcoms we were watching illegally on my laptop, the picture of 21st century life-partnership bliss. I began timidly...
"Honey? There's one thing that I'm really scared of when it comes to living with you for the rest of my life." (Okay "timidly" means blunt with no segue, but in a slightly higher pitched voice.)
My sensitive guy turned to face me, his face all genuinely concerned, "What is it? You can tell me."
"I--I'm really scared that I won't get to decorate my bedroom the way I want it ever again. I don't want it all guy-ie and gross with nothing but brown and squares everywhere." (That's honestly how I picture men's decorating to be: A sea of brown, black, and occasionally grey squares.)
He looked at me for a second to make sure I was serious. I was. "It's okay honey, you can decorate our bedroom. It can be girly. Well, not girly, but, you know... feminine. It'll be your room, I'll just show up to crash."
Then I got excited and started talking fast, and mentioned something about, "Blah blah blah dressing table! Blah blah blah teal, but more like forest green, with pink accents," and he looked like he instantly regretted what he said, but it was too late. You heard it here first, people. I have locked in bedroom decoration for LIFE! BOO-YAH! That's how it's done, ladies.
Seriously though, I was pretty worried about that. A woman's bedroom is her sanctuary. It's where we dominated the home phone line as teenagers, before cell phones were a thing teenagers had. It's where we blasted our Sarah MacLachlan and Tori Amos and cried over our journals when we were having a bad day (yes, I was a teen in the nineties). It's where I learned to play my first Creedence Clearwater Revival song on my Harmony acoustic guitar I saved up for ("Bad Moon Rising"). It's where we curled up in a little ball on our beds and wished we could be anywhere, ANYWHERE, but about to attend high school another day. Was that one just me? What the hell do guys do in their rooms but awkwardly masturbate? I can't help but think of the Beach Boys' song "In My Room" and think that I'm being unfair. Brian Wilson should have been allowed to decorate his adult bedroom too.
In other news, I decided to do a little detoxing and am quitting dairy for a couple of weeks and no longer eating at night for as long as I can stand it. All I want to do is eat. That's the main reason I'm blogging. Because if my hands are typing they're not shoving food in my mouth. I want three pizzas, in my mouth, now.