Wednesday, September 20, 2006

He could do nothing but laugh when I inadvertently called him my husband

It appears the honeymoon stage is officially over. Not that it really ever occurred with MArt, but just as a point of reference, this relationship has grown to become a script in unrestraint.

These last weeks have been interlaced with drawn-out discussions concerning the aforementioned "us" and love-making sessions out of the ying yang (in a regretfully literal way). The differences between me and him are astounding. Even the paradoxical areas of our personas butt-heads in equal measure. When angered, I vent, he sulks. When agitated, I confront, he avoids. I am impatient, his is infinite. And while only big things get me down, his pet peeves outnumber the worst. Decorum is only important to me in public, yet for him, it is a necessary part of the private. Our lifestyle habits alone keep us a bit off-kilter simply because a) I cannot fully immerse myself into his large circle of friends due to my aversion to parties, as well as b) my unresponsiveness to his requests to meet mine (for fear of it appearing too "formal" an event). Even our superficial similarities -- like music and food -- are governed by the core mechanisms of our basal instincts.

In other words: We are pushing the hell out of each other's buttons.

One night, as I was busy concocting metaphors in yet another discussion beginning with "I feel ...," my emotions got the best of me when I suggested that perhaps I am not the one for him. I choked back tears that immediately -- and unexpectedly -- flooded my eyes and pooled between my lips:

"I never expected it to be so hard," I held my breath just long enough to say.

His hand crept into mine and stroked my hair with the other. "I'm going to work on keeping this, no matter what. I love you."

It was a mockable montage of forced fed pop, a scene taken from Lifetime's cutting room floor.

Corny as we tend to be, it's tough having two unrelenting alphas dictating the direction of the relationship. I've always thought myself capable of being in one if only because I saw myself as a "happy compromiser". Of course, this ability to "happily compromise" was just something I told myself to feel less guilty for being a calculating sophist. So here's a man saying no to me -- sometimes out of spite, sometimes because he's self-righteous -- and it jars me from my own existence, forcing me to endure my own brand of bullheadedness. "No" shouldn't be a part of anyone's vocabulary but my own! I tried contending to myself. (Needless to say, a fruitless endeavour.) Being single had the advantage of nurturing selfish impulses, and slowly trading them in has been at once an ordeal and an adjustment. And then there's also wondering when my amateur heart became a beeping device of territorial greed. I don't know when it happened; I'm sure it didn't come with the first date. This desire to be the source of his fears, the object of his affections, and the projection of perfection for him. (Though in reality, I have maintained to keep our material independence intact.)

Is our species' pursuit of security so strong that it can manage to convince a relatively sane person to pull together every resource to assure its survival?

me: "It's like two people stranded in an endless desert with a camel: They can either replenish themselves with what water they can scrounge up or give their share to the humped mammal in order to move forward. But why continue when all you see are sand dunes in every direction? What's the point?"

MArt: "Then you don't have hope."

Pandora should've kept the lid open longer.

I'm meeting his parents next month and we're attending a hockey game together to mark the beginning of the season. Perhaps love can only be judged in retrospect, like the never present tomorrow.

... Or maybe I should leave those kinds of thoughts to Wordsworth.


It seems as if every sore memory I encounterd during my freshman year of late-night shenanigans has been informed that I have been seeing a mystery somebody. I suppose "Lily has a boyfriend" does sound like a pretty absurd piece of gossip.

And there's no harm in keeping it that way. It's the price of being unknowingly known.

Except I'm vaguely curious as to why my business would be of interest to anyone (and to whom?); I hardly make myself appear memorable around the disturbed.

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