*J made me promise to never show anyone that picture, I think it captures our essence, scary…. see below*
I’m more or less the queen of over sharing. You may love or hate it. Probably less so if you’re a daily participant in my life, or heaven forbid my significant other.
What a loaded title.
So, in the spirit of myself here I go. For the record J was fully aware that I have a HUGE mouth when he got involved with me, it’s just part of the territory. Wanna be friends?
I’ve been really quite lately. Externally. I have a really hard time “being myself” when my personal life is all fucked up. If you know anything about me you know that, that’s usually the case. Jelly?
But why? How could that be, you’re so: beautiful, charming, intelligent, driven, devine. Ha. Today I did get called a Goddess so I’m going to tuck that into my pocket for a rainy day. The reality is that in my down time when I’m not being a TOTAL Goddess… I’m busy being highly opinionated, discontent, OCD, the overly lenient mother of a spoiled brat (I don’t suppose that those two things have any thing to do with one another), and I’m pretty flippin’ needy. I stopped just short of saying insane and bitch as a act of self-love. Really, I think I’m pretty great just a little broken like all of us.
This crazy conglomeration of who I am coexists with an even crazier (we have the who’s more crazy debate a lot, it’s our pillow talk) and completely amazing man that I want to kill on a semi-regular basis. I think that’s what they call love.
The other day a friend silenced my loosely structured pity party with simply, “Relationships are hard, I know I’ve been in a lot of failed ones”. That latched it’s self onto the other sound pieces of advice spewed over the same dish pit: “There are no guarantees in life” and “What is meant to happen, will happen”. I have good friends.
He and I are the perfect storm. Somedays it’s perfect, others a storm. Everyday we try to find our footing. We try to figure out how to love someone that we are too much alike.
“Frantic and serene, vigilant and calm, wrung-out and fortified, explosive and sedate—love commands a vast army of moods. Hoping for victory, limping from the latest skirmish, lovers enter the arena once again. Sitting still, we are as daring as gladiators.”
― Diane Ackerman, A Natural History of Love
Sometimes when I’m driving. Or when I’m looking at my reflection in his shinny head :). Or when I’m reorganizing the dishwasher because he can’t get the bowl lean just right I think about this totally Jim and Pam (that’s a The Office reference Mom) moment that I had unbeknownst to him at our old work place. He was shouting some entirely too personal details about his life over a couple of cubicles at me and I said, “No way me too.” Despite the Barbie Dream House reaction inside a completely surreal wave of realization, “You are supposed to know him” washed over me. I had no idea what that meant or how it would manifest. But it did. And how.
This was weeks after I had dubbed him my boyfriend (a thing that I secretly do to every hypothetical man that I actually wouldn’t pursue or have a chance with…. I think that normal people call that a crush or a long shot). Weeks after I’d fallen in love with the way that he throws his head back as he laughs. Weeks into studying all of his beauty. The way moves his hands. Weeks into being sucked into the depths of his personality. I am supposed to know him.
Somedays the supposed feels like the weight of the world. Somedays it feels futile. Most days it’s the force that keeps my soul rooted in reality. It’s my security. It’s my reason to come home, he is home. We choose to love each other every day. Sometimes it takes six days of heated debate to reassure both of us that it’s still our choice.
We chase each other. I don’t know if either one of us are the type to be caught. It’s good when it’s fun and devastating when it’s not. But what ‘cha gonna do. We’re hard to get and we’re hard to be had. A match made on Earth.
“We think of it as a sort of traffic accident of the heart. It is an emotion that scares us more than cruelty, more than violence, more than hatred. We allow ourselves to be foiled by the vagueness of the word. After all, love requires the utmost vulnerability. We equip someone with freshly sharpened knives; strip naked; then invite him to stand close. What could be scarier?”
― Diane Ackerman
“You’ve gotta stop sneaking up on me dude.”
“I’m not sneaking up on you, I just walked past you”.