My sister-in-law, she of the thank-god-she-made-him-call-me-that-day fame, sent me an email this morning. As usual, it was full of high energy and updates on her busy life. It also had two pieces of terrific information: she has just celebrated a one-year anniversary of going out with a most wonderful and loving man (Yay!); she has started reading this blog (Yikes).

*runs to the mirror and checks hair*

Actually, I?m quite thrilled to know she is going to be stopping in here on occasion as no one else in that other world is aware of my strange habit--except for her brother, obvs. So, knowing I had a visitor, I came back in and read over some recent posts (which was as boring as it sounds, but I was curious to see how it might?ve looked to her) and I must say I was rather jolted.

Where have all the words gone? So many photos?so little update. And when I do write, it?s jibber about eating pizza. WTF? Looking at the blog from this perspective?I wasn?t too happy.

I blame you. You love me too much and never tell me when my slip is showing or when I?ve got corn in my teeth. C?mon?I thought we were further along in our relationship than that. Why have you not taken me to task for such piddle? Isn?t that your job? I mean, someone should be working around here and clearly, it isn?t me.

So without further ado?something I have learned recently:

I?ve been married for over 12 years!

I discovered this Wednesday night when I went out for drinks and pot-stickers with a woman I?d met at the gym. Meg (originally from Burlington, Vermont) arrived most unwillingly to our little corner of the cultural desert because she was stupid enough to fall in love and then marry a guy who?d built a log cabin in these here woods. Sound familiar? My heart went out to her as she told me of the struggle of the past two years. Cold people, no friends, no cinema, no restaurants, no museums and LIVING IN A TWO-ROOM LOG CABIN. IN THE WOODS.

It could sorta put a strain on the relationship, you know. So the young newlywed talked and I empathized. Then she turned to me and asked, ?how long have you and T been married?? I took a sip of cabernet sauvignon as I casually ran the tally in my head and then choked. WTF?

When I got home I ran up the stairs and found T sitting at the computer working on a website.

Did you know we?ve been married for over 12 years?

That can?t be right.

June. 1993. Do the math.

Sh*t! How?d that happen?

I?m asking you, bucko. You?ve got some explaining to do.

12 years? F*ck. If we?re not careful, we?re gonna become?

Don?t even say it!

Seriously, we may already be?

If you say it, we?re done.

Old married people.

Gah!

And that?s not even counting the time before?

Stop. We?re done. Consider yourself divorced.

Also, I?ve been thinking a lot about Sarcomical?s comment on the last series of photo posts. Now I love Sarcomical and I emailed her to make sure she still loves me (and she does), but it really triggered a core issue that I have with this blog.

My focus is on the beautiful.

Of course my life has assholes, inconveniences, problems, accidents, suffering, sadness, loss, struggle and grief. The thing is I?ve got an experiment going on. The less time and attention I give to all the above and the more focus I give to that which gives me pleasure?the more pleasurable things come into my life.

I truly believe that what you focus on is what you attract to you (whether you do it consciously or unconsciously). Over the past several months, I have been struggling with a guy at work who makes me crazy. Crazy! He is an arrogant prick and a control freak. We butt heads all the time. (And yes, I hear you pseudo-analysts out there snickering?hee hee?she is butting heads with someone EXACTLY LIKE HER). However, given what I know and given what I believe?I have a new approach starting today.

Remember how Ally McBeal would have a ?song?--- a song that she?d have playing over and over in her head? That?s what I?m doing, baby. And it?s all about the love. I?m wearing black cut-out stockings, black leather boots, a faboo flippy skirt?and my song? ?I?m just a love machine . . .? hooooowarh. Watch out, kids--- here comes the love machine.

And I think that is quite enough verbal spewing for today.

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