Chloe is so pretty standing next to me and I feel disappointed in my appearance in inability to look any better for her.  Almost to the point of embarrassment.  We make two attempts at Japanese without reservations until we decide on Magdy’s on South 6th.  I enjoy dinner very much, as well as the three cups of coffee I inhale.  I’m not as energetic as to be expected, though I am overly talkative.

By the end of the night, Chloe is still sporting her short, red dress and long legs.  It’s enough to make my body go numb.  She’s strewn about the bed with a slight smile and my hands move on autopilot.

It’s past 1:30am with the lamp to my left in my normal baroque fashion.  I stayed out of the house long enough to not have to listen to incessant bickering and whining.  Having had it plague my morning, I knew I had to remove myself from the environment just so I wouldn’t drive my head through the fucking wall.

After a number of weeks off my antidepressants, I can spot my typical idiosyncrasies making slight returns.  I’m tad more impulsive in my dialogue.  But I can feel again.  And for me, that alone is invaluable.

With so much happening to us at once, the possibility of pushing our wedding back a year is becoming more of a reality than I had really wanted to admit a month ago.  But with money needing to be appropriately allocated and the prospect of moving in together, we have to make intelligent, calculated decisions. 

Truthfully, I don’t need a piece of paper to confirm that I will love Chloe without limit.  I just wanted her to qualify for coverage under my health insurance.