The opening theme from Hellsing is one catchy tune. So there.

My most recent bit of wisdom from Dr. Pharmacology: �If you�re going to do time, you might do it somewhere with good air conditioning, or where they don�t put you on antipsychotics.� You might not find it amusing, but then I might not care.

On my way over here just now, as I walked across campus, a great plume of something was released from a tall skinny chimney on a building marked �Power House.� It scared me, it sounded loud, like a fire hose, and it was coming out so fast that it made a cone in the air. I hope it was just steam, because the white vapor drifted down on me and made my face wet. Uck.

San has it in his head that we�re going to get married one of these days. I suspect he has envisioned this as the natural progression of our relationship from day one. And, I suppose, after three and a half years it�s not an unreasonable expectation. Why, then, do I feel ill every time he brings it up? It�s not as though he pushes me. There is no �hey, KJ, when are we getting married?� but there are subtle comments and unspoken assumptions, words about the future and a new fascination with jewelry stores, that seem to trigger my good-gad-run-for-your-life reflex.

Now, don�t get me wrong, I love San. I wouldn�t still be following him around if I didn�t; I like to think I have a little more self worth than that. He is an amazing musician, he writes incredible poetry in the middle of the night, and he treats me like I�m the single most important thing in the universe. He is one of the few people with whom I can actually discuss the things I care about without exciting his wrath. I can rant all I want, about anything at all, and he will contribute, agree, argue, or if I�m past the point of making enough sense to argue, laugh and call me cute to bring me back to reality. He has the most beautiful green eyes in the world, and he smells good. When I�m with San, I feel warm and safe and loved and important. I can let down all my walls, say what comes to mind without worrying about what he�ll think. You know how we act a little bit different around everyone we know? We have to, really. I am much more polite and morally upstanding around my most Christian friends, for instance, and most of us have a �Grandma voice� that isn�t quite the same as when we talk to anyone else. You wouldn�t talk to your mom in quite the same way as your best friend, and I find I must restrain my sillier side around pretty much everyone, to varying degrees. With San, I don�t have to think about that. I don�t leave thinking, wow, that didn�t sound at all like me. I can be as silly as I want, or as serious. I can choose to swear like a sailor or choose to say �shucky darn!� and it�s all good. I actually like myself when I�m with him.

So why am I not drooling over all those diamonds and doodling pictures of my wedding dress? Why am I not practicing signing my name �KJ Lluth� and imagining what our kids are going to look like? It�s a mystery. I mean, he has his faults: he is terrible with money, he spends too much time with silly computer games, and he has all the common sense of a cabbage. But I love my cabbage. He just wouldn�t be the same if he was an investment banker who never took the time to play and knew the answers to everything. So what�s up? My mother tells me that if I don�t want to marry him by now, I never will. Is she right? Or is she just saying that because she wanted to marry Dad from the first week they were dating, and thus cannot understand my feelings? I don�t know. I don�t want to marry because I feel like I should, like it�s the logical step after being with someone for so long. And I don�t want to let him go because I�m being a big noncommittal sissy. Meanwhile, I shouldn�t even be worrying about it since it likely won�t be an issue until we have both graduated, but . . . I worry anyway. It seems it's in my nature to overcomplicate things. Go figure.