Come Hell or Highwater

I'm going to get back to blogging

A) because a very lovely British gentleman has asked me recently if I was keeping on with it. He said he liked reading it and wondered where I'd gone.  You know who you are you cheeky ginger.

2) because it is a fantastic place to unload the crapola that floats around in my head.

and #) because there's no way I'll remember this still when I'm old, or maybe next year even.

I'm resolving (again, I know. What's this, about my fifth rededication) to get back to it, err this.

That being said, yes of course there are reasons I haven't been blogging.  The 55 hour work weeks are one of the most obvious. Since I started my current project mid-April I've worked over 850 total hours.  That's a might high average since you've got to deduct the last two weeks at a mere 40 hours/week.  The company put the ka-bosh on all the overtime. I'm hoping the pendulum swing back to OT again when things get (farther) behind schedule.

I also haven't been blogging much because when I'm not working, I'm with 25. That's still happening.  I think at some point we because a thing.  A couple thing. Who knew that today, one day short of the anniversary of our first date, I'd be blogging about being with him?  Not me. Definitely not me.  The best part of that? He knows.

He knows that he wasn't what I (thought I) was looking for. He knew and was equally slow to get into a monogamous, exclusive relationship. He knows that I'm in a fair amount of awe that he's put up with me this long and keeps coming back, always with a smile on his face to put one on mine.

I think round-about the last blogs I'd just given over a drawer, and then two, to him.  Now he's got an, albeit small, dresser and a chunk of space in the closet. His hiking and camping gear lives in the garage all mixed in with mine. Our boots covered in the same mud dust from our last time out. He's got a key, and the garage door opener built in to his review mirror is programmed for my house.

He's in. In a big huge way, he's in.  In a fantastic and if I think about it too much, fantastically scary way, he's in.

I've been single for a long time.  There were minor flings over along the way, usually ending as quickly as they began. It's been  the past five plus years. He knows that. He understands and, I would venture, agrees, the molasses speed has been a good thing. Because here we are, 364 days after first saying "Hi, you must be . . . " and he's still here.