We passed the one month mark without realizing it. Caught it around 11. Just enough anniversary left to slide in close to my husband on the couch, move his body around in order to make a better pillow for myself, finish another season of Frasier. We’ve been passing the month in our temporary home, in our side-by-side cubicles, in our borrowed bed. I look for new recipes for zucchini, because free is the best we can get right now, while he reads his history books and pretends not to be scared about grad school. Wedding planning seems forever long ago. Apartment hunting is fading away in the same hazy manner. I won’t have a job in two weeks but we’re not talking about that now. I’m baking cupcakes and refusing to clean up the dead animal we found in the basement. We never got to unpack some boxes, which works out in the long run after all.
