Today has me practically dancing out of bed. It's my day, nobody else's. My battery for other people ran out by the end of Thursday, and last night I skipped out on the bon voyage party for the Purdys (I'll see them again before they leave; otherwise I'd like to think I would have made a point to attend). Game three for the Ms later today (to be watched from the living room, accompanied by beer). "The day is mine!" I hope it's the Mariners' day, too.
I've said it before, or things like it: sometimes I don't think I could be married. It's the "seven days a week for the rest of my life" thing-- the thought of someone, anyone being with me all the time sounds a little like hell to me. I could do maybe four days a week, but they don't offer that package. Suzanne suggested I marry a flight attendant; Nate proposed the idea of a travelling nurse.
But then, when I think about women I may have truly loved, I realize I'm full of shit. I'd do it, in a heartbeat. For me, that could be a measure of that kind of love.