A couple of sad sacks

Hubby and I aren't what most people would call "exciting". 

We're married. 

We go to bed early.  We bicker over who should feed the cats, or who should clean the kitchen, or who should change the sheets.  We do laundry on the weekends.  We eat dinner in front of the tv, when we eat dinner at all. 

We don't shovel unless there's so much snow that it really gets in the way.  And even then, we only shovel a walking path.

We pretend we're listening to each other.  We don't always have something to talk about, so we tell the same stories over and over again.  And when we run out of repeat anecdotes, we tell each other how cuuuute the cats are. 

We could travel more.  Or we could "put our money toward the house" instead.

We usually prefer to stay in.  We rent movies rather than bother with a theatre full of stupid chatterers and muncherers and putting-their-asses-and/or-crotches-in-my-face-when-they-go-to-the-bathroom-ers. 

Even when Hubby says "It's Friday.  Friday is fun day!"  what he really means is that we should spend it in front of the fire with a beer and relax.

And when we do want to go out?  We can rarely think of anything fun/inexpensive to do.  Or if we can, we're often happy to skip it.

If we go out, we can pass hour upon hour just by making ruthless fun of strangers.  Pointing them out, trying to figure out how they ended up to be such a mess.  

And tonight, on Friday night, Hubby picked me up at the bus station, and we stopped at the grocery store, and we made dinner, and we watched Ellen (Hubby for the second time that day), and then he sat on the couch and I sat in the chair, and we rented a movie, and now I'm blogging and he's playing guitar/Angry Birds.  

And he asked me to lean forward to get his USB cord, and I can't because I'm perfectly situated with my parka cape over my shoulders and the computer on my lap.  

And a moment ago, to top it all off, Hubby got up and you know what I realized?  "Look, Honey, we're wearing the same shirt!"  Yep.  The same damn white short-sleeved Relay for Life t-shirt with yellow and blue Cancer Society flowers on the front. 

And you know what?  We laughed. 

You see, the absolute best thing about being married and unexciting is that it is so perfectly, blissfully, happily, and honestly comfortable. 

We can bicker, and we can sit around the house, and we can talk about nothing - and no matter what - almost every single day, throughout the day - we always end up laughing. 

There is something so spectacularly satisfying about that kind of comfort.  

Even if it is "boring".  

_ 

Mornings give me panic attacks

I asked Hubby if he would drive me to work tomorrow.  Not just for any reason, but because I have French class tomorrow morning - tomorrow morning at 8:00. 

Eff it, 8:00 effing SUCKS.

I normally start work at 9:00.  And by 9:00, I mean anywhere between 9:15 and 9:30 - depending entirely on what time I crawl my lazy ass out of bed, and make my way to the bus station, and outrun the security guards, and chase the goddam bus, and hop on for my ride into work. 

Which, by the way, is the only time in the morning I can actually tolerate, since it's the only time I'm not rushing.  Sitting on the bus is the most freeing experience.  I have no control over it.  If that driver is as late as all get out, there is nothing I can do.  If he wants to drive like an effing turtle, there's nothing I can do.  If he wants to stop and let every lazy I-want-the-bus-to-wait-but-I-don't-want-to-run loser, there is NOTHING I can do.

And so, I just sit and zone-out and enjoy the view of the blurring traffic-jammed cars as I speed by in my happy little blue bus seat.   

But Thursday mornings I have French.  At 8:00.  Which means I have to leave the house by 6:45 in order to get there in plenty of time. 

Bull shit. 

So I asked Hubby if he would drive me tomorrow.

"But then I'll have to pick you up at the bus station after work" he said.  "Will you be home in time for me to go to the gym?"

"Hmmm.  I'll think about it."

"Ok."

"It's just that 6:45 is sooo much worse than 7:30"  I added.  "It's not the 45 minutes.  I can live with the 45 minutes."  [speed talking now]  "It's that 7:30 is bad enough, but 6:45?  6:45 is a whole other world of pain."  {Short shaky breaths]  "6:45 gives me anxiety."

And so, thank you Hubby for driving me to French class tomorrow.  And for nurturing my commuter anxiety disorder.  Without you, I'd be a very panicky - and very tired - emotional mess. 
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