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Tuesday, 09/21/2010 - 5:45 p.m.

If you mix banana and strawberry instant oatmeal together, you have strawberry-banana oatmeal. I'm a genius. And by "genius" I mean "higher than Harlem on enough DayQuil to kill a small child". Nigel gave me his cold.

On the 11th, Nigel took me home to meet his parents. I did not throw up but it was a close thing. I really like his parents and I think they liked me. I'm still 100% sure that I am not what they envisioned for their youngest child, but at least they could see we're happy together and very obviously care about each other. Meeting his older sister is going to be the litmus test, though. She and I will either be best friends or hate each other's guts - there will be no middle ground. She and Nigel are thick as thieves and her good (or bad) opinion of me will have some weight with him. We're going back on the 25th, assuming both of our colds are on the mend.

The Boy got a job, hallelujah and amen. He started about 3 weeks ago and while it was not the one he was hoping for, it's still employment and he doesn't hate what he's doing. We've been playing phone tag here lately because he comes home from work and passes out.

DC also got a job and he started last Tuesday. He's back where he wanted to be and we seem to be moving out of the slump we were in around the time his mom got really sick. We had a knock-down-drag-out fight on Thursday night about said slump. The majority of the issues were resolvable almost immediately and I'm no longer walking around on eggshells. I cried quite a bit on Thursday night, which helped me a lot, then we had really really good sex afterwards. Nigel and I had really really good sex on Friday night and I cried my ass off then, too.

I'm not sure if the sex restores the closeness and that makes me feel better or if the sex endorphins are what make me feel better. I'm pretty sure I don't want to fall into a pattern of fight-then-fuck, though. (Although Nigel and I had not been fighting - we just had kick-ass sex because we missed each other.) Maybe it's the crying that makes me feel better. There *is* something cleansing and refreshing in being able to cry really hard and not give a crap about how you look or how big a mess you're making.

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