It's a strange feeling to admit to myself and to others what has become very much a fact, and it hit me today.  I knew already but it really tunneled down from the point of impact well into the core where it could be properly processed.
    I have once again entered into a state of matrimony.  Miss Never Again is there already.
    Of course, there is no certificate or license, because I am describing a de facto state that has  nothing to do with legalities, for of course my divorce is not yet finished, and so I cannot get married.
    It has long been my contention that people who live with each other as possibly long term partners, especially those who have children together (though not the case here), are pretty much married, with or without anything official, and it feels like Snoops and I have crossed over into this land.
    There is shaving cream in my bathroom, and I do not shave.  There is seltzer water in my fridge, and I do not like the stuff.  There is laundry in my hamper that can't possibly fit me, and I am just fine with it.  In fact, I've never been happier.
    When we shop now, we've begun to say things like, "Are we out of peanut butter?" and "Do we need toilet paper?"  When we end a day out together and are going back to my place, we talk about going home.
    Nothing ever felt more right.
    I've begun to think of Snoops under a different nickname.  Rebar.  I like it.
    Rebar is reinforcement bar, and it's a rod of steel used to strengthen concrete.  Whenever you see someone pouring concrete on a job bigger than a sidewalk, and you see all the rusty, ribbed javelins thrown in there, that's rebar.  I like the very sound of the word, as well as the connotation of strength that compliments strength of a different variety.  Cement, however hard, would crumble and fail without rebar.
    I feel more safe and alive and stimulated and whole than I could imagine before.
    This is a miracle.

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