Not again...

Fucking Florida, I thought I was rid of you for good.

They're calling back and telling Jen that they want to offer her lots more money, enticing her with possibilities of paying relocation and extra money to cover private insurance for me (none of which I really believe; the company promises her the moon every time they catch wind that she's unhappy).

I don't want to live in the south and I don't want to not be married and I don't want to be far away from my grandparents and I don't want to be legally barred from adopting children and I don't want to be stared at all the time and I just plain don't want to be unhappy.

I think the universe is scoffing me. Not two days ago I was rejoicing our united resolve to get to Western Mass come hell or high water, making plans to start our own little hippie Happy Valley family by the end of the summer. It's like someone up there keeps reminding me, "Don't be optimistic, kid, because I'm just here to screw with you."

I can be a supportive spouse or I can be a good self-advocate. What a crappy choice to make.