Yet another day of domestic bliss in Lori's Loveshack, friends. It's early afternoon, and I've just taken Belly for a miniwalk, made a few calls to potential grad schools, straightened out a weird summer housing situation, and listened to Hanson's new album, which I actually really like, although it's certainly no Middle of Nowhere. Hanson music's sort of worthless until you've got the words down, though, because you can't appreciate them fully until you can sing along loudly in your car, or a capella in the shower.
Now, sure, I sound like the same old Jen, rambling about Hanson and making lists all the damn time, but this summer's got me in some crazy new place. I wake early in the morning and watch Marshall get ready for work, send her off with a kiss, spend the days reading and running errands and rolling around with the dogs, relax with the girl once she returns from work, have dinner and, very often, quiet nights in together. (Or else we have arguments over whether we'd rather be stupid or snobbish, but I'm even grateful for all that, because I get to see her speak with such conviction, and she shares all kinds of stories, and she always shocks me with how good she is.) My life this summer is the exact opposite, basically, of what I thought I wanted before Marshall wrecked all my alone-for-now plans and moved into my life. It's really nice, though, living in this adorable house and cozying up with our dogs and watching four episodes of Weeds in a row when we don't feel like working. Like playing house, but with an agenda. It's total insanity, this domesticity. Last night, Marshall and I made fucking brownies - two varieties of 'em.
Now, sure, I sound like the same old Jen, rambling about Hanson and making lists all the damn time, but this summer's got me in some crazy new place. I wake early in the morning and watch Marshall get ready for work, send her off with a kiss, spend the days reading and running errands and rolling around with the dogs, relax with the girl once she returns from work, have dinner and, very often, quiet nights in together. (Or else we have arguments over whether we'd rather be stupid or snobbish, but I'm even grateful for all that, because I get to see her speak with such conviction, and she shares all kinds of stories, and she always shocks me with how good she is.) My life this summer is the exact opposite, basically, of what I thought I wanted before Marshall wrecked all my alone-for-now plans and moved into my life. It's really nice, though, living in this adorable house and cozying up with our dogs and watching four episodes of Weeds in a row when we don't feel like working. Like playing house, but with an agenda. It's total insanity, this domesticity. Last night, Marshall and I made fucking brownies - two varieties of 'em.
Here's our little lady, Belly, looking a bit unhappy about the camera situation. She's so pretty, though, and so silly, and so soft, and she looks a whole lot like a baby calf from certain angles because of her black spots, which you can't see in this picture.
I'll just admit it now, though: Belly and Marshall have got some crazy bond going on, while I clicked with Boudreaux from the moment he jumped up on me, scratching my arms all up in the process. He's very needy and silly, but he manages to look so noble in the process. A fascinating pup, that Boudreaux.
Tomorrow's the 4th of July, which ain't no thing, except that I've never gotten to be with a girlfriend on the 4th before. (I'm usually at Myrtle Beach with the family then, and having madcap adventures with Camille when the fireworks go off.) The day after that, I start Humanities 414 with Subramaniam, which I'm totally primed for, because I love humanities classes and have heard really excellent things about this teacher. I suppose I'll have to resume work on Poetics of Perception at some point, although my poetry gets weaker with each attempt, and god, I miss prose, and will be glad to get into my seminar project next term. I also get to see Dr. Judy, my psychiatrist, on Thursday, and although I am a therapy junkie from way back, this woman does nothing for me. She routinely refers to Marshall as "Megan" and refers to past lovers as "special friends," and she always seems to be judging me. Also, her office is ugly and the crayons she keeps on her shelf are all disorganized and it distresses me each time I'm in there. But I will prevail, and then I'll return to this house and cuddle with Belly and Boudreaux, and oh man, I'll have new books, that's way-exciting. It's all looking up, friends. And, hey, check out the cute pulp novel cover display that hangs in Lori's kitchen!
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