My poor wife

Yeah, I figured that sympathizing with my wife would be a wise way to initiate myself into the world of internet publishing. How's that for euphemism, eh? Internet publishing. "Yeah, I found a publisher for all of my work. It's the internet. Not just anybody can put stuff online you know...er...Wait a minute..."

Oh yeah, back to my poor wife: So Andrea puts up with a lot of crap. She really does. Usually it's the girl in a relationship that just needs to talk, talk, talk, talk, talk all the time. What is it 10,000 words a day or something that girls typically dispense? And guys feel like their tongues are going to cramp up and die of exhaustion if they have to actually generate verbal communication more than once every hour. That's not the case in our house. At least not with Andrea.

God bless her, but I married an introvert. If Andrea were to blog, it would probably consist of no more than ten or twelve words, and those would comprise a to-do list of some sort. Don't get me wrong...Andrea is not "painfully" introverted by any means. She's actually quite socially-intelligent, however much she thinks she's the opposite. I believe that the very notion of recognizing there is such a thing as social intelligence speaks volumes about her understanding of how to behave around others. Maybe she puts her foot in her mouth from time to time, but don't we all? Gosh, I should have been fired from my job two or three times over for letting stupid jokes or goofy comments slip out of my mouth before my brain could tell it to shut.

So it's about stinking time that I finally started blogging. I come home from work on a typical day and start yammering on about whatever's on my mind, and Andrea gives me that look that tells me she's not even trying to listen. She's been dealing with Bree and Evy all day long and simply needs a break. A break for her ideally involves alone time with a book and a tall Espresso Truffle with extra whip, but at this point in the day, she'll usually settle for simply not having to tax her brain any further by adding my pointless drivel to the never-ending noise.

It's not that I "have to talk" like the three-year-old Breezer Bear, but it's nice to get my thoughts out from time to time, and my wife no longer has the patience for my long-winded yippity yap. I probably should have been journaling for most of my life, but I never really liked to handwrite because my pinky would always cramp up...and even I have trouble reading my own chicken scratch. ("Where do I keep the chicken," right Chad? Aw, who am I kidding? The Chad will probably never read this blog.) Anyway, blogging seems to be a great solution, and I finally have all the tools I need to do it -- a laptop paid for by the office; the magic fridge of wireless internet service that mysteriously manifests itself in my house; and now time to myself after the girls are down for the night because all Andrea has energy to do is rejuvenate herself by reading a book and going to bed early. All that, and blogging has the built-in benefit of catering to my natural tendency of never finishing anything. What a perfect outlet for me. At least for tonight.

(On a side note, I really hate typing on a laptop. At least ten times now already, I've somehow rubbed up against the wrong button or touchpad or something that has caused me to either open up a completely new tab on Google Chrome or erase what I've typed completely. Thank Bill Gates for Edit-Undo.)