Email to Shinobi:

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to: [pretty-mine]
from: [yours]


I should stop sitting down here by myself. There's nothing to stop me from thinking, especially when Oscar's sleeping (I guess I wore him out earlier).

We once joked about us being the least melodramatic couple in the house. After today I'm pretty sure that's cause I have no melodramatics left after dealing with the rest of the house. At this point, I couldn't be melodramatic at you even if I wanted to. I hadn't wanted to pick a fight today, and I know it was stupid to go into Scott's journal and do what I did, but I guess I wasn't thinking again. Go figure, huh.

But what I did say was true, for the most part. There are very few people here that I would actually trust my life with. I'm certainly not going to treat this place like the best thing that ever happened to me, because regardless of what they think, it isn't. I could leave tomorrow, and though I'd miss some of the people here this place is not the end-all and be-all of my existence. That's what I've got home for.

But..... I had a point when I started this.

Right. Thank you for putting up with me. And for not kicking my sorry ass to the curb every time I end up in a screaming match with somebody here. I'm sure it gets pretty tempting sometimes.

-Yours.

Comments

[x-shinobi.livejournal.com]

To: [mine]
From: [yours]

I actually didn't think it looked like a screaming match, bizarrely enough. I thought you made an attempt at a joke, at musing upon Scott's nickname, and got your throat jumped down unnecessarily because Paul was already on his last nerve. So, really, love, as far as that goes? Nothing to apologize for. Certainly not to me. Possibly to Scott, once he's in fit form again, but the surprise might give him a heart attack or a stroke or something, and I don't want to see the poor man broken.

You put up with me, too, you know. Maybe not in the same ways I choose to put up with you, but I know I'm not your idea of a perfect, wonderful time, either. I'm pretty, I'm rich, I like travelling, I like expensive clothes, I like big fancy parties.. lots of stuff you aren't precisely hip to. And, well. The X-Men, trying to quit smoking, and all that, probably don't help much, either. But you put up with me anyway, and some days, I'm not entirely sure why. I have my more morbid theories, but they only come to mind when I'm depressed, so there's probably no truth to them, but.

If you felt up to it, and thought he was moveable, you and Oscar could come help me keep my bed warm tonight. (Though it smells a bit like Paul and Hank. ...don't ask. ...actually, do, less likely to be rumours they'd kill me for that way. Ask a lot.) Or I could come down, probably, though I'm worried about falling down the stairs, a little. Tired.

-yours.