I haven't updated for a long while. There are practical reasons for this which I can accept and deal with. The one that confused me a little was that my lovely girlfriend told me she went hunting for, and found, my blog.

I had to think about that one for a bit. I don't write anything in the blog I wouldn't tell her, or anyone, because, well, that would be pretty stupid, wouldn't it? What with it being ON THE INTERNET and everything.

So she can read it, I don't care. I reckon she'll probably stop eventually since we live together and she knows everything that happens to me anyway. And then I can get back to the really dirty stuff. You know, like I did before.

Lisa is away. She is in France. She discovered that she can call me from there, without entering any extra digits or anything. And I can call her. So it's really like we're just really busy.

While she's gone, I have to move. You may remember that her house caught on fire, and that she moved in with me after that. We decided to move back into her place once it's fixed. Problem with that is: we don't have control over when it will be fixed. So her folks have been nice enough to permit me to move my junk into their largely-empty sunroom. So I have to move things into there, wait for the apartment to be finished, then move them up there. In the meantime, I will be homeless.

I'm actually quite pleased with the level of unsolicited offers of help moving I've received. I haven't moved in a while, but I've helped a lot of friends out. People are calling me up to offer help. Even a girl I used to date. Even friends of Lisa's I don't know well. It's pretty cool, actually. People are contacting me to help me do really annoying shit. I reckon this means they like me, they really like me. I guess that’s a pretty cool thing.

I think Lisa is very secure in our relationship. I hope so. I don't think I give her any reasons to doubt me, and I'm very happy with her. But occasionally a bit of whining happens, especially when I fuck up a bit. Those go-nowhere, purposeless conversations about "commitment" and blah di blah; the kind that if you indulge in them, anything you say only makes things worse. So far I just smile and nod and pet her hair and try not to say anything and then she realizes she's being silly and apologizes and everything's cool. Compared to previous girlfriends, Lisa is so secure and confident that these rare occasions are no big deal, especially considering how awesome she is 99.9999999% of the time.

I hate moving more than anything, so it's good I'm doing it myself. Moving makes me hate EVERYTHING, which is why I'm unlikely to cash in any of the gracious offers of help I've received because I know I will be very unpleasant company while I'm toting my crap. Also, in Lisa's absence, without other rigidly-defined responsibilities, I know that I would probably buy the fourth season of 24 and an ounce of weed and do bugger-all all week. Though I am a dutiful person, I am also a profoundly lazy person. By Saturday (I have to be moved out of my old pad by Sunday) I would be freaking out, unable to hire a moving truck, and would probably still be stoned. I would put all my crap on the lawn with a FREE sign and go to a movie. Next I will tell you about the responsibility I have while Lisa is in France other than moving, which is keeping this from happening.

Lisa has a dawg. She is a sweet dawg. She is an old dawg. She is a lumpy dawg, because she is covered in benign fatty cysts. Like Tom Bombadil's pony, she is Fatty Lumpkin. The sweet old lumpy dawg is too fat, and she is arthritic, and she has chewed off one of her cysts. Because Lisa's parents have weird ideas about pet care such as "let her lick it; it'll get better", I have been entrusted with care of sweet old lumpy dawg in Lisa's absence. I have to load her 106-lb, smelly, incontinent (and mainly uncooperative) ass into a car to take her to the vet. I have to worry about Lisa's parents taking off the dog's conehead apparatus because "she looked sad". I have to do Something Disgusting every day before changing the bandages. I am bitching now, but I do this willingly, because I love animals, I love Lisa, and honestly it didn't occur to me to do anything else.

Lisa is annoyed with the dawg for having shitty timing with the getting sick and all. But I think the timing's OK. It’s extremely gross, but it seems to be motivating me...(or it could be my pathological need to find the silver lining in everything that's motivating me to find something good about this situation). See, the daily Something Disgusting is aiding in my moving efforts. I have to go over to the new place every day to deal with the dawg, so I just make sure I pack up a couple of boxes and stick them in my car before going over there. By the time the dawg's antibiotic course is done, I should be all moved out.

So there is a good side to the Something Disgusting. But still: I think I'm going to have to ask for one thing from Lisa in return.

There will be no more pointless discussions of my relationship commitment level for a while.

And why, you may ask, do I feel I can require this instead of gently placating her feminine insecurities as I normally would?

Because I have been touching a dog tumour. With my fingers. The fingers on my hands. And I'm not even a dog person. I dunno...I think that makes me pretty bloody committed and I should be exempt from this kid of worry for a while. If Lisa's feeling a little whiny, I want to just have to say: "DOG PUS", and she will immediately stop worrying because I am Wonderful.

And then get me a beer.

Am I wrong here?