an understanding that everything would go my way in 2013-2014

I need to write about our Florida trip, and the wedding, and... I will get there, just not yet. I need to vent a little first.

Aaron's old company keeps begging him to go back to work in Afghanistan. They keep upping the deal, to a sweet and seductive $140,000 a year now. We had a sit-down pros-and-cons talk tonight over Skype and I thiiink he wanted me to talk him out of it. The only pro he could think of was the money, and I had a thousand cons. He said that he wasn't disappointed at the conclusion, a big fat nope, but he was awfully apprehensive about diving into our conversation. I had just finished a run + some body weight exercises and a shower, so I was nice and worn out, but he was quite tense and referred to it as the giant elephant in the room. I didn't think it was thaaat big of a deal, although it did preoccupy me on my lunchtime walk.

So there was that, and the rest of Skype tonight has been him sitting in the dark while his sister plays a video game on his system, with Skype barely working to converse without sputtering, and basically, it's been worthless and we're borderline ignoring each other.

Which is fine. Basically. I've done my own thing. I got up and took the dog out and cleaned the kitchen and looked at the crazy weather over Nebraska and read about professional Russian media trolls. (Come and get me!)

Heather called me tonight and we shot the breeze while she drove to Chase's apartment. We talked the usual: pap smears, parent visits, engagements and weddings and babies and prank wedding gifts and bachelorette parties. Of our almost 10 years of inside jokes and shenanigans, she swears she's getting us/me googly eyes (the joke is to stick them on questionable body parts) and the big one, that my first children will be Spot and Spotilla. That is at least ten years old. I've been saying that since I hit child-bearing age and people fussed at me about wanting children. It puts them off. It's now Common Lore and used affectionately. I'd rather refer to my unborn children as Spot or Spotilla than the usual "bean" or "peanut" or "little sack of cells."

(And it's my body that I love so much getting warped and twisted and shifted all around and stretched out and hurting, and dammit, I will call them what I want.)

For some reason, he has completely lost his sense of humor over googly eyes and silly nicknames for babies. I mean, completely, there is no humor, there is borderline anger. I do not get it. And I'd love to ask him why he reacts so strongly, except that I can never fucking get him alone. He's always either in the living room, or a sibling's hanging out in his room, or he's at work. Even when he had the door (cracked?) shut and kicked the cat out for the Afghanistan talk earlier, there were comments and questions through the door. It's really frustrating. Sometimes I can't get a word in edgewise when they're talking.

I get that they live together and they're really close, and when you grow up in a seven-person household your concept of space and privacy gets smushed a little. But I swear, sometimes I'd like the luxury of having a serious conversation without interruption.

(One of his flimsy Afghanistan pro's, related to money, was that if he moved out, I could move into his room in the apartment and solve my moving dilemma. Ohhh fuuuck noooooooo for so many reasons I love them but they are slobs and I am a neatfreak and bathrooms and kitchens are sacred clean places and noooooooooooooo and did he forget that his stairs made Sheppy's arthritis flare up and noooooooooooooooo.)

And I think I'm PMSing (May had a lot of weeks, but by count I think we're nearing day 28, and my boobs are sore and I am overly tired), and I've had a headache since 3pm when the student workers went into chatty/suckup overdrive, and maybe I just need to go to bed early again. It's almost midnight, anyway.