When Jeff and I were first married, we bought a bleeding heart plant and in a spirit of goodwill and optimism, named it Methuselah.
The plant was dead and tossed in the trash bin within a month.
The marriage, thankfully, is still growing and strong.
My temptation is to write some flowery, long, click-worthy post on marriage and my marriage in particular. But it all feels so forced and stilted and simply not right that I had to delete what I spent the better part of an hour working on, save for the top bit. And the top bit remains as it is, in its own way, fitting.
Because my marriage isn’t perfect, which is not some fake-modest statement. It’s a statement of fact. I’m in our marriage, Jeff’s in our marriage, and neither one of us is perfect, which makes for, well, imperfections galore. But we’re also a team, we have each other’s back, and as such we have weathered withered dreams and dashed hopes and missteps and mistakes.
We’re better together, I think. I know we are getting better together. And so I shall leave this post “as is”, incomplete and messy and in need of some fixing. Because sometimes the more important thing is to not write about my marriage, but rather to go spend time with the one I’m married to, to simply be together for a bit and not worry about Life Goals and Long Term Plans and the like, but to rather enjoy some ice cream along with a few Tonight Show clips on YouTube.