That was Sunday and Monday...

Maybe it's just me. In fact, it is entirely possible it is just me even though I know it isn't, and it is, in fact, you as well. But it helps me to think it may just be me, in which case I feel I am able to forgive you if only because I am able to suspend disbelief for the briefest of moments. Of course, in that very brief window of opportunity, you manage to place another foot into the hole that was formally known as your mouth (which will now be referred to as your ass), a hole that has taken on new meanings as you speak into the void that up until a moment ago was your exit strategy and further deteriorated was about to be a beatific moment on my part as I forgave you your idiocy when I had just finished convincing myself it was in fact just me and not you.

I hate it when I'm wrong. Even though it is admittedly rare. I hate it even more when, as I sit here and have whole and complete arguments inside my head as you rattle on endlessly, I never actually get to say what I want to say. Not only because you haven't shut up, but because by the time I'm done arguing my point in my head, I'm too exhausted to repeat it aloud. And not just because I know it never sounds as good verbalized as it did mentalized.

I hate even more so the fact that you interpret my acquiescence as your win, and not as my enduring patience cleverly disguised as too exhausted to repeat mental arguments I have in fact won while you lost in reality the verbal argument that mentally happened.

And now, as I sit here and type and enjoy Goonies in the background while you slumber all over the couch which prevents me from enjoying Goonies in a slightly more comfortable but less blog-friendly couch-like position, it still matters naught. As I've still decided to forgive you, and you have no idea you needed it.

I'll try not to be bitter as long as you try not to be an ass anymore.

This is attainable as long as I still have the energy to have the conversation once you wake up. Which will probably be about my bed time. In which case it won't happen as splendidly as it's happened in my head. And probably won't include any make-up sex either. Due to the aforementioned mental splendidness not appearing in any tangible way in reality, and partially due to bed time, but mostly due to exhaustion.

And that's just Sunday and Monday...

Oh, yes, I may as well mention, the picture is just pretty, ain't it? No special relevance, just a passing happy thought.