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Sweetie,
I love you. For serious. You are the stars and moon, the Earth and sun, all that flowery poetic lovey-dovey shit that means I less than three you.
But leave me the fuck alone.
You have been at my side nearly constantly since the second of June. And when you aren't by my side, you're texting me. Or calling me.
I appreciate that you love me and want to spend time with me, but a good portion of the time your idea of "time with me" is actually sitting behind me in the office, doing who knows what on your facebook games and occasionally snorting (which is disturbing). I can not write if you are in the room. You disturb my fic writing mojo. I like to sing and giggle at my own under-appreciated wittiness while I write. One giggle and you are rolling across the small space between our areas, asking me what's so funny, or looking over your shoulder to see if I'm looking at Lolcats. (Which, sometimes, I am. But those are my lolcats to look at, find your own.) Or, worse yet, I'll be singing along with iTunes and then I hear YOU SINGING! NO, this is not allowed. I have headphones specifically to drown out the sound of my own voice, making me a Rock Star. If I can hear you, I know that I am not, in fact, rocking out with Adele or whomever, but am sitting in my office listening to YOU sing off-key.
Not pretty.
Especially when you decide to give your special rendition of American Pie complete with high notes.
Anywho, to recap: I love you, sweetie, but I'm glad you're at work today. I would be more glad if you stopped texting and calling me to discuss the weather and to ask me to do things for you because I am trying to pay the bills so we can have things like insurance and electricity and also after that I want to work on my exchange fic before you come home and expect me to make you some lasagna like thing that involves opening a box and a can and putting things in a skillet and staring at the stove for thirty minutes when I could be rocking out in my office writing SS/HG smoochie type romantic things.
Signed,
Your loving wife
I love you. For serious. You are the stars and moon, the Earth and sun, all that flowery poetic lovey-dovey shit that means I less than three you.
But leave me the fuck alone.
You have been at my side nearly constantly since the second of June. And when you aren't by my side, you're texting me. Or calling me.
I appreciate that you love me and want to spend time with me, but a good portion of the time your idea of "time with me" is actually sitting behind me in the office, doing who knows what on your facebook games and occasionally snorting (which is disturbing). I can not write if you are in the room. You disturb my fic writing mojo. I like to sing and giggle at my own under-appreciated wittiness while I write. One giggle and you are rolling across the small space between our areas, asking me what's so funny, or looking over your shoulder to see if I'm looking at Lolcats. (Which, sometimes, I am. But those are my lolcats to look at, find your own.) Or, worse yet, I'll be singing along with iTunes and then I hear YOU SINGING! NO, this is not allowed. I have headphones specifically to drown out the sound of my own voice, making me a Rock Star. If I can hear you, I know that I am not, in fact, rocking out with Adele or whomever, but am sitting in my office listening to YOU sing off-key.
Not pretty.
Especially when you decide to give your special rendition of American Pie complete with high notes.
Anywho, to recap: I love you, sweetie, but I'm glad you're at work today. I would be more glad if you stopped texting and calling me to discuss the weather and to ask me to do things for you because I am trying to pay the bills so we can have things like insurance and electricity and also after that I want to work on my exchange fic before you come home and expect me to make you some lasagna like thing that involves opening a box and a can and putting things in a skillet and staring at the stove for thirty minutes when I could be rocking out in my office writing SS/HG smoochie type romantic things.
Signed,
Your loving wife
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