Tell Me a Story

I have painted almost every room in my house with my move to RI looming ever closer.  I even covered up the lovely pastel colors in my room a few days ago with "Marina" that I lightened even further with some leftover white paint.  It was damn depressing.  I tried to keep a stiff upper lip and told all my kids my room didn't look half bad.   Every one of them saw through me and said they hated it.  Even my lover who never cares about anything made an unsolicited comment about missing my bedroom colors.

The brown on my walls matched my brown mood today given that I've been feeling rather sad about my upcoming move.  In case you're keeping track, I'm leaving in 26 days.  I was wallowing a bit in my misery until I called my sis who has been having some serious problems for the last 16 months or so.  After our 20 minute phone call, I realized I better shut my yap about my tiny worries.  I also need to remember to send her some money and a bag of Doritos to eat her problems away with.  

I just need to remember how much I have to be thankful for.  I have a supportive family, a new adventure on my horizon, and this sexy hunk:

I love grabbing or touching this guy's ears.  Truth be told, I love grabbing and touching anything I can get a hold of on this dude.  He's delicious to me, is always on my side, and tells me lots of stories that make me laugh.  Like tonight for instance:  he told me in his emotionless voice all about an idiot that he had in jail who wiped his butt with his shirt.  He had to write the guy up for destroying county property (the shirt) and the dude got indignant.  "You're writing me up?!" he demanded, to which Jared replied, "you shouldn't have wiped your ass with your shirt."  It's like he has 400 babies in grown up bodies that he gets paid to babysit.  His stories are incredible, totally true, and when told in his monotone, completely hilarious to me.  

After the story, my bipolar Rhode Island pendulum swung back to positive again, and I've decided to think of a certain poopy shirt headed to the county landfill if I need a quick pick me up.  That, and maybe I'll try to squeeze in some extra ear rubs before I go...