sits on ear wax bench with erin_o

I can honestly say, not a sentence I expected to see anytime soon.

My quick-fire replies to the fifty posts I've just zoomed through:

• Itchy ears can be nothing more than a sign of excessive ear wax. Get them sorted by the doctor, or try olive oil or purified water (ask a pharmacist which types to buy).

• There are people who think ear wax production would equal eternal singleness. Hmm. Why, exactly? Sure, occasionally The Girl shouts "You can't hear me! Get your ears looked at!" but otherwise it is not in itself a bar to marital bliss. Also, I snore with similar decibel levels to a plane taking off. The Girl still wants to marry me. She does wear ear-plugs, though. (Taking us full-circle back to ears. It's a beautiful thing.)

• Combining libraries: we did this the moment we moved in together. I'd much rather share a library than a bank account. We've got the same categories of books. Organized and everything: plays, classic novels, modern literature, non-fiction. We tried alphabetical order, but it's hard to maintain.

• The Girl can't watch TV without getting sucked in, either - so I too have had to give up my 'TV on in the background' habits. It's been difficult. I listen to the radio at night when she's asleep. It does mean I think more carefully about what I want to watch now.

This has been a post entirely about my nearly-married life. Weird.

I'm having terrible trouble writing my literature review. I struggle a lot with getting into the writing part of research. I need to keep trying until I get past the writer's block, but GAH. Hard.

Whoo-hoo! I will stay over for 2-3 weeks with said incredibly cool relative of mine. Can't wait. She's amazing type of being, she truly is (so what if I was born 62 years after her. I don't age discriminate cool people).

And now, it's the real really happy birthday, omnis! I allow you to kill anyone you won't like today. Isn't that a tradition in your state?

ION, my "will have to live in a settlement" challenge: I got to the point where I can think "hey, maybe I'm making a fuss over it. I'll move and see how it goes" with only 25% of me feeling nauseous about it. But seriously, it did get me depressed. I don't wanna reveal here just how many hours of the day I spent in my bed, next to the interwebs as an excuse of doing nothing, being frumpy outside of said bed and interwebs connection, but that's pretty much what happened. When a friend called me last night to schedule a goodbye hike we've planned to do over this weekend (I live next to a beautiful nature reserve here), I kindda wanted to cancel the whole thing, but she convinced my to get off my ass and starting living. Maybe the Northern Exposure marathon I'm having is working its charms. If we'll move there and I'll continue being all gloomy, I wanna know what I can do about it - meds, whatever. I have to live these two years there, and if I can't rationalize myself into feeling better about it, I need to know what will help. I have no intention spending the next two years of my life depressed and/or moody.

Oh, and as for combining libraries: I can't wait to move back with my family again just to combine my library with my dad's.

I stole a lot of his books the past 5 years to myself, and there's a whole bunch I wanted to get my hands on.

Triple post. Hummm.

I'm transforming a tunic my mom didn't want anymore into a skirt for me; anything I need to know, or tips, before I cause irreversible damage to my intention? (I just cut the sleeves off, and the place where the two sides of the tunic meet over the shoulders.)

The stated justification is promotion of the sanctity of marriage -- there's lots of backwards legislation that use that as a justification.

ita, think also of the situation where your fictional husband whacks into some old granny in a crosswalk, and runs home, tells you and doesn't know what to do. The privilege allows him to come home and talk to you about it (it is assumed you will urge him to do the right thing) without having you later be the testimonial nail in his coffin. Some states also use this kind of thing to respect the relationship between a child and parent - there isn't a privilege there, but the state wants to encourage a child to talk to his parent without then having to force the parent as an accuser.

I have nothing to contribute to the earwax conversation.

Shir, I'm glad you're going to be getting out and going for a hike. The outdoors often has a calming effect on me. And again, I'm wishing you lots of ~ma as you try and figure out how to deal with this difficult situation.

I have no altering tips for you, sadly.

Major gronk this morning. I was up until 1:30 am - KBD and I had a very emotional discussion that resulted in a lot of crying on my part. We look at the world really, *really* differently and reconciling those viewpoints is made more difficult by differences in language and defensiveness on both sides and a healthy but not useful dose of mutual snark.

Anyway, for the first time ever, my eyes are *ridiculously* puffy, I can't open them all the way. It's annoying and I feel silly.

Aw, don't feel silly. It happens. Get some cold teabags and put them over your eyes for a few minutes and that ought to help. At the very least, a cold, wet washcloth.

::smishes smonster and sneaks a grope, just 'cause::

Or put spoons in the freezer for a little bit and then put them on your eyelids.

Post toasties:

People iz weird. Growing up in Miami, on a fairly busy street, no less, it didn't really surprise me if people picked stuff up that you put out for the trash. Or even if you just set it out on the street, hoping someone would pick it up and take it. Kind of one of those time-honored traditions, one man's trash is another's treasure thing.

Where I currently live, though... I'm on a cul-de-sac in a subdivision that's part of a larger Planned Urban Development. I don't necessarily expect to see trash scavengers in my hood. Yet someone apparently went through our trash last night and riffled through several boxes we had put out and took some other stuff that we're in the process of clearing out in preparation for the move. It's not that I care, so much except... it feels kind of weird, knowing someone was trolling my extremely suburban neighborhood for stuff and if they were going to rummage through the boxes, you'd think they would have left them at least neat and not turned over on their sides with stuff spilling out.