  No kitty for us.  Not yet.  Sweetness assures little mr.  kitty will be by before the end of the week,  but i have a sneaking suspicison it'll be a mite longer than that.  No worries,
 here,  still need to think up a name and so on.  ( Suggestions welcome)  & nbsp;
 Kurt and i will be married for two years tomorrow.  It seems like the time isn't right -  rather we should be married forever,  or just yesterday.  We're going to the local chic munchy- munchy for cheaper chic munchies -
 Tapas at the Tempest.  Tasty food,  and special,  and not zillions of dollars expensive that we can't afford to spend.  The plan is to eat like dirty rotten piggies when we get enough of our debts paid off.  (
You'll note i didn't say 'when we get our debts paid'.  I fancy myself a realist.  & nbsp;  Two years.  On that day of bwessid awangement,
 that dweam wifin a dweam,  Lucas was ring bearer,  siblings were witnesses,  and both myself and Kurt nearly threw up.  I partially blacked out,  and kurt couldn't stop laughing.
 And we cried a bunch.  I can't imagine getting married in front of a whole whack of people,  it was too personal.  I think my prejudice springs from the fact that Kurt and i did go through a church wedding of sorts -  his sister's wedding was in august of that same year.  It was hell-
 and neither of us had any major part in it.  The stress of bringing together two families,  quarrels,  the sheer PRICE of everything,  not to mention strange backstabbing bridesmaids and endless shopping for crap you'll never wear ever again -  wow.
 Not something that suggests anything marriage is supposed to represent.  ( Unless,  of course,  you're going for the whole marriage- is-
a- huge- pain- in- the- ass motif.
 It worked ok,  don't get me wrong, nbsp; Missy's& nbsp; wedding went off&
nbsp; without a hitch,  and it was lovely.  Still -  it was a huge pain in the ass.  &
nbsp;  I was going to put down here a poem i had written to Kurt after we first got engaged,  but to my surprise,  and well,  relief,  I can't find it.
 Here's an E. E.  Cummings poem that sums things up much more nicely than i could& nbsp; instead:  &
nbsp;  & nbsp;  one's not half two. nbsp;  It's two are halves of one:
 which halves reintegrating, shall occur no death and any quantity; but than all numerable mosts the actual more & nbsp;  minds ignorant of stern miraculous this every truth- beware of heartless them (
given the scalpel, they dissect a kiss;  or, sold the reason, they undream a dream)  &
nbsp;  one is the song which fiends and angels sing:  all murdering lies by mortals told make two.  Let liars wilt, repaying life they're loaned;  we(
by a gift called dying born) must grow deep in dark least ourselves remembering love only rides his year. nbsp; nbsp; nbsp; nbsp;
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 All lose, whole find & nbsp;
