Truce

Everyone who has been in my place before me has heard of or used this word.  I think we have reached truce, but where does it lead us?  Truce is nothing more than cease-fire.  No resolution has been made, no reward but the alleviation of total conflict.

I will continue to push for answers to our relationship’s problems.  This, I hear, is called the “Seven Year Itch.”  Whatever it is called, I am determined not to take this lightly nor be smoothed over like the crunchy peanut butter on the sandwich bread.

Maybe we can begin discussions again without open argument.  If that happens, great, but it isn’t the solve.  I still believe we need to take this outside our little arena and get a translator.  I think the counselor might be the way to go.  My other half needs to be willing to work on this idea also, though.

In other news, my military situation appears to have ramped up.  Some things I have been waiting on since arriving here in the “best little secret in the Navy” are finally getting up to speed.  I might be working for real soon.

I’m hearing also from my potential second job some tunes that I might be starting up soon.  That’ll bring in a good bit more cash and will begin to set me up for success in my long-term career after the Federal Yacht Club dues are up.

Relations at work are okay.  I’m not feeling quite as tired as earlier this week.

Took the kiddies to Chuck E Rat’s pizza joint today.  I haven’t had fun like that in quite awhile.  Quite worth the offensively squandrous amount of cash we spent there.  Note to inexperienced patrons:  DO NOT accompany your kid in the “ball-crawl-tunnel-slide-thingy.”  Based on my tactile and olfactory receptions in there, they don’t clean it enough.  YUCK!  If I were to go there regularly, boiling water and bleach deluge once a week would not keep that joint free of the greasysweatycheesydirtydroolybarfyleakyfootfunkysneezy demon that infests the Chuck E Rat’s playground.

I must be getting back to normal.  My run-on sarcasm and non-humor has returned.