How does one write a brilliant yet understated blog full of sentiment and worthwhile down to earth advice? It’s difficult. And time consuming. And for one that always has the last word…It is less than comical how long it can take to find the words to write even a single entry. Life intervenes as it will, and we are at the mercy of it’s tirelessly ridiculous never-ending distractions. And I am human. Mostly. Just like most of you are, mostly.
That being said. There has been much to report in the days since last we spoke. I will gladly get to those things, once Spotify would kindly stop pausing mid-song during my listening to the everlasting,ever hopeful, gloriously underwhelming rhythms and sounds of
Which for optimal listening pleasure, is best enjoyed using headphones, and in the dark. Or by tape deck should you have one. And should have you have tight pants, bangs you have to “Roxberry” style head-bob (I made that word up) out of the way and a cellular device you can mute to passive-aggressively announce your anti-social tendencies…
You will be all set, and ready to write. Or cry. Sometimes I choose crying. But only on the inside. Karate man only cry on the inside! (Eddie Murphy anyone?) (Bueller…?)
Okay. Screw it. I’m a writer! A writer writes! Always! The night was moist…
This blog was originally supposed to be about a boy making his way through the complicated, overrated , overdramatized, dating stages of life. A courageous adventure , an epic, a tale of such gargantuan proportion and complexity of the unknown, inner workings of dating at large, that not only could my readers live vicariously through me , but could help to come to avoid the pitfalls that would most certainly bring upon a swift and painful end. Hell hath no fury as a woman scorn after all. And if you don’t believe that… You’re going to need more help than I thought. you…*cough* So. Back to my point.
Instead I find myself in a happy, healthy relationship, and to my surprise, an entirely different set of questions now lay before me. Questions I hadn’t even considered answers to, as I have felt mostly in my previous life at least, would be answers that would have to be made as I came to them. Not counting chickens before they hatched so to speak. Luckily I have no chicken eggs. Nor chickens for that matter. I’ve seen evidence of how evil and aggressive these seemingly harmless creatures can be. And as Pablo Neruda has written…
“I am weary of chickens. No one knows what they are thinking, and they look at us with dry eyes and consider us unimportant…”
I’ve been waiting to use that quote.
Anyhow. As we speak, she moves gracefully through the apartment, cleaning dishes, packaging leftovers, (that she will undoubtedly remind me to take for lunch tomorrow), and doing the many things she does that makes my life that much more special and comforting. And the questions I spoke of, are no longer for myself, but for us as a whole. A single person has nothing to worry about.
If I felt the need to quit my job, live off of Top Ramen and Rainier, sell the fungus between my toes as art, and adopt a misshapen, hairless muskrat to call my precious… There is nothing that would stop me ( that may or may not have been me four months ago) . It was always easy enough to think for myself, and go where the wind blows. I even admired to a point, the idea of living for one`s self…
Outside of the fact, that none of it was working for me.
And then one day, it all just fell in my lap. As its said it happens..But these questions now, back to the point… Are even harder at times to answer, despite two heads being better than one. Before, I had thought that the idea of compromising was this magical give and take game, where everyone got to say what it is they wanted, and you could agree to disagree. No harm, no foul, sometimes things just don’t work out. And sometimes that’s true. Sometimes I didn’t feel the need to indulge certain habits, tangents, temper tantrums, bugaboos. That is to say, compromising isn’t the same thing as learning a situation isn’t working for you and not accepting that it needs to change…
I haven’t figured it all out. I couldn’t tell you why I let my girlfriend dress me. Or why I spend my Sundays now, watching football with a bar full of drunken hooligans ( and yell along with them ). I even watched an obviously terrible movie. On purpose. Just for her. And I did it without kicking and screaming. Not one peep. Until the end. When we both were utterly disgusted. So, that doesn’t count entirely. Anyway.
I can’t tell you why it works for me. Or if it will work for you. You can dress yourself too. I just have no sense of fashion. And sports are about as intriguing as
to me, but with a grunt, a hooray, some random indistinguishable possibly should be censored words…I can fit in ( pro tip #1 : make sure all words, noises or flailing correspond with what is actually is going on, on the television)( pro tip #2 : whooping, hollering and flat out craziness does help clear space at the bar for extra drawing elbow room).
Okay so…I can list about three hundred other things that we don’t share in common… and at the start I thought it made for more comical interactions than the things I would end up loving about us. Not to mention, how ridiculous I must sound now to the people who know me. And that is yet another topic to discuss later…Truly though, you never know what you will do for a good woman. And that’s okay by me.
What I am trying to get at is quite simple. While we are quite different, we are learning to compromise together. And compromise is not synonymous with singularity. It is actively choosing to act together. To learn together. Enjoy your differences, and embrace the changes that will occur naturally. For better. Or for weirder.