On Having a Wonderful Wifey

It's amazing how big a difference she's made in my life. Today, as we were cleaning out the closet, we went through a bag of old stuff from a life I can't believe I ever lived. An old keychain and a patch from my undergraduate school, a toy car I used to send across the floor of the newsroom on late nights while the computer was restarting because it had choked on the scripts my former boss had slapped together, a ticket from a glee club concert I had sung in... a small heap of reminders, somewhere between memorabilia and what Philip K. Dick called "kipple."

I'm light years away from there now. I remember driving home from work at three in the morning, the only one on the roads, staring at the stars above as I rolled down the lonely country road toward my family's house. I remember the empty pang I felt, the regrets about how little I had accomplished, about how lonely I would be when I crawled into my solitary bed and slept the morning away.

Looking back, I realize that those were some of the most productive days and nights of my life. I learned so much, felt so much, did so much that I didn't see... but I'd trade those four years in a heartbeat for a single day with her (even though I've already had hundreds of those and will probably have 10,000 more).

This morning, she came out and made a bagel while I was working. Her smile, her groggy "good morning," the way she rubbed the sleep out of her gorgeous blue eyes and came over to hug me... these are things that I knew would be good, but that are so much better than I imagined that I wonder sometimes if I'm dreaming.

I know I'm rambling, I know this is boring and nearly incomprehensible and probably way too saccharine, and I know that I should be typing away at my immigration project instead of typing this. I just had to let it all out. Thanks for reading it, if you did. Next time, I'll try to have something more interesting for you.