Maybe it’s the cold/flu thing that’s been sacking my will to live. Or, maybe it’s that I just suck completely at specific date recalls and human emotion.

Today-ish is when M. and I have an anniversary. Tax day figures into the early lore, but the first meeting is a bit before. Tax day we both remember.

About four years ago we started the liasing. So far, so good, I do believe. His knuckleheadedness seems to dovetail nicely with my knuckleheadedness. We still laugh. We still smile. And, now we have our peaceful, walking life, in which a Sunday night dinner is followed by a stroll to the local independent bookseller and the ice cream shop.

If it weren’t my actual existence, I would barf all over my shoes at the cloying sweetness, the fairytale, hand-holding giggling togetherness.

I suppose if I wasn’t feeling tired and sorry for my sick self and bored with phlegm in its various incarnations, I would show the boy-o some warmth and caring. But, love means whining repeatedly for an entire weekend and coughing someone awake pre-dawn, doesn’t it?