Anyone in a long-term relationship knows that no matter how much you're crazy about one another, there're bound to be "spats," my dysfunctional, denial-based word for balls-out screaming 'till the windows rattle fighting. Call me sexist, but my significant other, being of the female sex, is cursed with hormones that do somersaults for days on end and then stop. This happens every month. Well, this month's first somersault was a remarkable one, to put it lightly. And it was about money. I loathe arguing about money* so I just spreadsheeted all of my evidence and presented it to her. This caused her main propulsion rockets to achieve ignition and off she spun into the stratosphere, only to land moments later upon me as if someone threw at me a cat that'd just been dropped in a toilet. A cat with very, very large claws and big fangs.

*Of course most sane people loathe arguing about anything, but I grew up with a depression-era mentality parent (it's never enough!) and am now married to a person whose childhood family poverty level makes my stories of "eating lotsa mac 'n cheese and wearing hand-me-downs" seem like growing up at The Ritz. She and I have plenty of money. Plenty. Enough. Arguing about it pushes my buttons big-time.

Ever the optimist, I just waited for the storm to blow over (as it does, always). Surely enough, it does. And the calm after the storm is pleasant and peaceful and blessedly quiet. Yeah, I know some of you may be thinking, about the guy who whacks himself in the head with a brick, and when asked why, replies "'cause it feels so good when I stop!" But the guy with the brick can stop whenever he wants. When two are doin' the tango, it's nice when one chooses to stop. In fact, she found humor in her own behavior and laughed with me for awhile. I felt stupid 'cause I thought that we were going to go to sleep angry. We rarely do that. Less than once a year. That's one of our secrets to a happy marriage. Don't take the crap to bed with you.

So here I am in bed, a happy fellow (she and I have separate bedrooms 'cause I keep her up with my noding and farting and she keeps me up with her television left on long after the sandman pays her a visit) with little company but for the catbox, and the little eyes looking down upon me from a shelf (two large stuffed Teddy bears, two tiny ones, a floppy, cartoon-like stuffed dog, a remarkably soft fairly realistic looking stuffed Jack Russell Terrier, and a stuffed raccoon "bandit" holding his bag of booty). I'm done voting for the evening and am looking forward to a trip to the City tomorrow.

It takes me a bit to slow down and fall asleep. Most people count sheep. The last time I mentioned sheep in a daylog it was in an entirely different context, I know, but nonetheless a number of noders didn't like it. Nope. Didn't like it at all. So for the sake of peace, I'm now considering what member of the animal kingdom to count this lovely night:

  • Koalas
  • Wombats
  • Ocelots
  • Hamsters
  • Water Buffalo
  • Cats (preferably North American Tabby)
  • Newts
  • Giraffe (not enough room for that; NOTE TO SELF: purchase castle with bedchambers large enough for counting giraffe)
  • Ferrets

Naw, I'm getting sleepy now, I just need a few things to count. Aha! All the wonderful new writeup-classification buttons at the bottom of this big white space! That's what I'll count. If you're reading this, you know that I pressed one before I counted them all.