I Love My Husband–Anniversary Post

April 8th was Paul’s and my nine-year anniversary. I, of course, forgot. But as I was puttering around the kitchen I looked over and saw this:

I walked a little closer and saw this:

Nine years, you see, is pottery. So he bought me a bowl. It is an inexpensive bowl that looks a lot like many other bowls we have in our house, which is perfect. His thinking was, he wanted to get me something in the unlikely event that I would remember. But he didn’t want to get me anything too amazing, because in the more likely event that I would forget, he didn’t want to make me feel too guilty. It needed to be just enough to keep alive the knowledge that he is a slightly better person than me, and that I am lucky to have him. Which is true.

People who don’t know Paul don’t get it–not that there’s any reason they should, there’s not a lot of shiny packaging. But those who know him well enough totally understand. He’s like Judd Apatow and the Buddha, rolled into one, which I think is a big reason we’ve managed to survive some big stuff–life-threatening illnesses, family-planning disappointments, financial uncertainty–with relative equanimity. He’s really smart, but doesn’t lord it over you half as much as he could. He can hold lots of different things in his brain all at once, make decisions and drive at the same time. He’s a great problem-solver. And he’s an extremely good friend. Sometimes in bed I lie there with my fingers tangled through his hair, and think how much I love him.

Then I start hoping that neither of us dies too soon, which makes me start thinking about people dying, which takes me to a dark place.

But then he rolls over, and his morning breath in my face forces me to roll over too, and dark thoughts disperse when I see this:

Help a Filmmaker’s Dream Come True!

As some of you know Paul was recently named one of ten finalists for the Coca-Cola Refreshing Filmmaker Awards. Yesterday the ten finalist’s films were posted on-line at ccrfa.com. Check out his 50 second piece, entitled, “The Working Girl.”

Paul’s dream (which he keeps telling me about) is to fly to California and take his mother, who knows nothing about the contest, to the movies, so that he can watch the expression on her face when she sees her son on the big-screen, introducing his work with the line, “My name is Paul Seetachitt, and I’m this year’s refreshing filmmaker.”

This year’s contest has an online voting component that will help determine the winner. Please consider taking a few moments to add your vote. It’s easy to vote from the website using the supplied point system—I would never try to sway anyone’s artistic opinion, but I will just reiterate, that Paul’s entry is entitled, “The Working Girl.”

Lots and lots. We really appreciate your time and support. (Especially me, because it’s so depressing to see Paul cry.)


Damnit Damnit fucking damnit.
I think today was the last day to pay tuition and fees. Not that the university ever warns you in anyway. you’d think with all the propaganda they send, they might, until you think of how much money they make by charging the $100 late fee.

So I hate the university, which charges me late fees, and even for my 7pm classes has no parking available around that building.

I hate Paul because everytime we have a fight in the morning, I forget something on that day’s to do list, and usually by the time we’re done, whatever it is we were fighting about, usually cleaning or doing tasks that will prevent us from losing money, doesn’t get done anyway, so it seems pointless to bother.

I don’t hate me of course, because it has nothing to do with my own utter disorganization and distractibility.