And yes, that big *phew* is because things managed to work themselves out, somehow, and everything is ok. I’d be fibbing if I said that I felt completely and utterly sure that everything was going to be fine, but I’m pretty damn sure, and that’s good enough for me. My attitude is of the “FuckIt” variety…I just want to enjoy what I’ve got now and not worry about what may or may not come to pass. My FuckIt mentality is bleeding into other, more academic areas, but I’m not concerned about that either. I could give a crap about school at this point.

(Note: I’m back and forth on the whole, “Do I take the Bar this year or do I take the Bar next year dilemma. I need a magic eight ball of some sort to make the decision for me.)

Anyway, enjoying myself is easy on nights, like last night, where the weather is the perfect shade of fall and I’m at an Indians game, shelling peanuts and handing my large plastic cup of beer to my sweetie so that he can fish the bugs out of it and *assure* me that it was merely peanut skin that I saw, not hairy drowned insects.

And tonight I’ll enjoy my absolute favorite part of the work day with my Sweet which, of course, involves going home. I’ll try to keep my temper as I struggle to get through rush hour and tribe traffic to get to the apartment and walk the pooches so that I can get to the goods. What are the goods, you ask?

Well, I like changing (kicking off the heels, balling up the suit before tossing it into the closet) into comfy clothes (old concert tees and soft, well-worn jeans), and then joining A in the kitchen to cook dinner. I love the way we tell one another about our days while Aud thumbs through the mail and I empty the dishwasher. Tonight we’re both looking forward to featloaf (yes, it *is* much better than you imagine…it is *so* good that my meat-loving Lithuanian boy practically begs me to make it and will actually go to the store to pick up tofu and soy crumbles so that I can). I like how, when we cook together, this crazy game of kitchen bumper cars takes place, since one of us always seems to be in the spot that the other one needs to be. All the while Zeus is in the middle of everything, counter surfing or boxing us out of the way for some fallen scrap of something or other, tripping us up while Reme looks on, disgusted at his bad manners.

And that, my friends, is my favorite part of the day. Better hop to it or I’ll never get there.