I just realized today that it was 18 years ago, when I was 18 years old, that Loki and I moved in together. Maybe not this exact date, but right around now, the end of August, 1988. I've been with the same person half my life. More than half my life. Shoot, I was 17 years old when I fell in love with him at first sight. He didn't fall in love with me at first sight, but I made sure we spent enough time together that I would be there when he was ready to fall.
Some days, it is effortless and easy to be married. Other days, I feel like divorce is not nearly final enough, and death (his death, anyway) is the only way out. (I'm sure he could not make the same claim, as I am a source of constant joy.)
Maybe I'll make Oodles of Noodles for dinner, to remind him of the good old days.