On V's recommendation, the night before last, B and I watched Fast Food Nation. Midway through the movie, sometime after Avril Lavigne showed up for no reason, and immediately after the main girl quit her job because she started talking to a bunch of hippies and decided working for a big, evil corporation was wrong, B inquired about what I'm going to do with my life.

It turned into one big I-dodge-the-question-fest, until finally he wore me down and I spilled gut about the stay-at-home-wife-and-mom thing. I didn't want to. Think for a moment about how bad that sounds. "Yeah, I don't want to work. I just want to mooch off your success and give you several moochlings." I don't mean it like that.

And he didn't interpret it like that. But what he did say is I need something to do until then. He said I am creative and he hates to see me do nothing.

Creativity comes with a price. I can't just sit down and make something good. Believe me, I've tried. Everything in me rebels. My skill, my attention span, my ideas. It's not easy for me to picture anything in my mind's eye to begin with, but to put a concept down in prose or poetry or paint is often nigh impossible.

I'm okay where I am. It's a comfortable place--not necessarily financially, but I know what I'm doing, I know how to do what I'm doing, and I overall enjoy what I'm doing.

And I'd gladly do more if time and money were both big enough figures to allow it.

Something else B said just popped into my head. He said he was there to support me, and his family was there to support me. I hope he didn't mean anything more than emotionally. I am loath to accept aid from anyone. I'm going to name this phenomenon Poor People's Dignity Syndrome. I get it from my mother. She loves to act like she's not just barely making ends meet.

Sometimes it's hard to believe how lucky I am to have B. He takes me, all my ridiculous idiosyncracies, all my futile efforts and missing ambition, and he loves me anyway.

I think that was all I was going to say.