If there's one thing I love about the Boy, it's his ability to act as a confessor. I honestly feel that I can tell him anything about me, from gooshy situations in feminine biology to primitive mucky emotions clogging the spiritual pipes. I'm not one of those people who can tell everyone everything; there's still a healthy dose of shame connected to a good many of the things that trouble me. That's why I love the Boy. I can tell him and not be ashamed.

Tonight I was feeling sad because our trip is over, and with it the easy socialization with loved ones in our peer group. Being with 1-3 people all day is fun, but when it's over and you're back to the suburbs with your baby and a heaping helping of freezing rain, well... the whiplash can kill you, is all I'm saying. So I'm dealing with that by getting really jealous and/or resentful of the few friends I've managed to keep in our exile. (We will not be discussing specifics because it's all pretty ridiculous.) The Boy not only listened to all of this incoherent emotional spew, but he was sympathetic! He didn't tell me I was being a baby! He comforted me and discussed the real root of the problem!

In short, he made me feel better. I'm lucky to have him.

One day, when I have some time to sit down and write (hah!), the complete Chicago tale will be yours. Soon, my pretties. Soon.

I didn't know Blakers could drive a car.

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- Rocketbride's adventure of 11/24/2004 08:52:00 p.m.