I'm stuffing my face and watching football. it's been the theme of the weekend. tonight, i'm consoling myself with a gigantic fudgy brownie and milk while I watch the Bears struggle against Arizona. (Rex Grossman, what are you doing?)

Yesterday, it was pure sloth. A and I didn't get out of bed all day. I didn't go further than upstairs to the kitchen to grab the leftover pizza from the night before which we ended up eating in bed. Sleep, football, sleep, football, talked to my mom, TBS, sleep, more TBS, some random late night tv, sleep. That was my Sunday.

At some point last night, I asked A if he was sick of me yet. it had been almost 36 straight hours together, just us - no one else around. No, he wasn't sick of me. And, in return, I wasn't sick of him. After drinking too much on Friday night, neither of us wanted to go out. We holed up in his apartment with movies and pizza, cuddling on the couch before moving to his bed. (Oh, I'm not supposed to tell anyone he cuddles.....he has a reputation to uphold, he says.)

We're taking things slowly, especially since both of us are so busy that we can't really get too serious now. I like the slowness, it gives me more time to fully enjoy our time together without getting too scared of what might go wrong. (And if taking it slow means spending 30+ hours in bed together, I can't complain).