Last night I got home about 7:20, worn out, and D made me eggs, and sat with me while I soaked in a hot bath, and we did the crossword. This is love.
A headache woke me at 3, and I got up for water, realizing that all the time scrubbed in did not involve imbibing fluids. Nearly threw up, but the urge passed. D got up with me, claiming I had not woken him. I tried to open the balcony door for cool fresh air, but there wasn't any. Brain fried and half asleep I heard, but did not realize, he was letting Moby back in. Cat'd slipped out in that moment, and I only remembered this much later. D saw no point in bringing it up. He got little more sleep that night. I would give him some of mine, if I could. This is also love.
We saw (500) Days of Summer, and it pissed both of us off. Yes, we know that heady rush of early lust, of wanting to be adored, the overwhelming impulse to connect. But the characters were so essentially dishonest. She tells him she does not want to be part of a couple, but treats him as though she does. He wants a permanent relationship, but gives lip service to her preference, agreeing to no ties. It's all very shallow and wrong headed and drunken. So many little twists annoyed, not least of which is the fact that it's well shot, well acted but poorly conceived at it's heart. Overthought, and underfelt.
We have made a promise to each other, one in a series. No more Rom-coms. They always get it wrong. They never get the pouring out of words, the ease of jumbled stories filling up the space like puddles reforming to include each other. They never get the difficult times, when you see how brave the other person is, how they handle a crisis, how they comfort you in grief, how they gaze at you in deepest joy when you say you finally feel better after that food poisoning episode. How sweet to watch a grown man tell a cat good-night and good-bye and ask if cat has had enough sleep. Telling her you love her, as you come out of anesthesia.
Maybe we have a different view of this, because we fell in love in a war zone. Everything had meaning, there were no "party manners" as my aunts and mum would say. Start getting to know someone cold, hot, hungry, underslept, overstressed, undershowered, and still like them, you pretty much know what you're getting. Laying bedrock, rather than relying on the fluffiness of date-dreams. I have found more in D to admire over the years. We began treating each other as capable adults from the very beginning. We value strength and courage and maturity. And being able to make each other laugh, still. Even more so.
Tomorrow, I'm going to wrap his guitar stand, because the foam is disintegrating and getting on his guitars. Shhhh, don't tell him, it's going to be a surprize. I've already done it badly, but I'm going to do it neatly, and more long term, tomorrow.
Labels: love story