Category Archives: The David

Today marks the 8 month anniversary of my first date with David.  I fiend for each of these month markers, hoping that as each one passes, that it will start to feel like a real amount of time.  Significant time.  I had hopes that 8 moths would start to feel pretty solid, but it still sounds rather new to me, with possibilities for transience.  Longer relationships than this have gone awry in my glorious history of love.  I just want to get to be in a place and a time at which I’m not just the teeniest bit paranoid that it could all just not work out.

I do very much feel like he is permanent and that he’s everything I could possibly ever want to have in a partner.  While I’ve been known to have some wrong thoughts in the past, I think this thought is right.  I just want the validation of time behind me.  I want to be sitting on a porch, holding hands when we’re 80 already!  Admittedly, I will be 82 when he’s 80, but whatever.

Instead of continuing to wax psychotic over my insecurities, I will leave at that and say that I’m ever so very glad that I found him.  I’m pretty amazed that I got such a fellow as this one and I’m thrilled about how well the last 8 months have gone.  And I will try not to think any more about how when the relationship has lasted twice as long, it will have been 16 months, which is less time than it takes to gestate a baby elephant.

I have always found Valentine’s Day to be rather dreary, as a long standing non-Valentine holder.  I generally make efforts to acknowledge my single girl friends and sometimes send cards or give flowers and stuff.  But that was all just a ploy to stifle the pitiful little sorrows of my lonely heart.

Sniff.  sniff.  weep.

And this year, I am not single and I don’t live on Planet Suck, and I get to be with this wonderful person every day that I’m just so perpetually grateful to be around.  I thought that having Valentine’s Day once I got to be in this place would be this perfectly romantic episode.  But in the days leading up to it, I found that I wasn’t that excited.  We already say that we love each other a bunch of times, every day. We always hold hands.  We go out for nice dinners together.  We snuggle on the couch.  We linger in bed every chance that we can get.  So cliched, but really, every day is Valentine’s Day.

I may have to either go have a sentimental sob to myself now, or heave a little.

It must be said, though:  my sweet boy is great.  I am amazed that I get to be with him, and that he wants to be with me.  I love how he is so unfunny sometimes when he’s actually trying to be funny, and then just how funny he really is other times.  I love that he’s astonishingly clever and knows all kinds of everything and if he doesn’t know, will do immediate research to find out.  But he is always saying that I know everything, probably because I could say who Jennifer Aniston is dating at any given moment.  I love that he is obsessed with working out and gets terrifically invested in his efforts, because it is impressive and inspiring, and he’s got a truly lovely body.  I love that he falls asleep wrapped around me at night, even though it makes me swelteringly hot.  I love that he will just decide what we should do or have for dinner.  I love telling him how handsome he is and how perfect and just that I love him as much as I can.

I feel a little guilty about yesterday’s post.  Granted, I still don’t want to hear a hollow “you look pretty” when I am *clearly* looking heinous, but yeah, it’s wretched to complain about that, right?

So some things nicer:

I was worrying about how it had gotten so hard for me wake up at 5:30 am to get to the gym in the mornings since I’d started adapting to my boy’s schedule.  Let’s be honest, I would generally welcome any excuse to have to miss waking up that early, so it was sort of awesome to just skip out on it guilt free.  But I started feeling pudgier.  And the war I waged to fit into size 8 pants started to recede.  So I was bemoaning this.  What did darling poppet do?  He started getting up at 5:30 to go to the gym, too.  It just warms the cockles of my curmudgeonly little heart.

It could be too much caffeine.

Or, I could be really bored at work.

And feeling nervous. Because sometimes I just get over wrought.

And lately, I have been fussy about my thoughts on The Squeeze. The thoughts are bordering on mania.

He’s the most normal, most nice, kind and considerate guy I’ve ever dated. And this is very, very nice. I have made no concessions. I have no qualms. I like him and really don’t want to lose him. And this freaks me the fuck out.

Calming breaths. Calming breaths. Calming breaths.

What if? What if I only think that I like him, but I really don’t, and I won’t realize that until 2 years from now? What if I make one snarky comment too many and he realizes that I’m an asshole? What if his sister hates me? What if I am just caught up in not having to be a part of some sick ill open relationship festering wound of wretched? And I’ll never forget that Shel Silverstein said, “what if green hair grows out of my chest?” Yeah! What if?

Can’t I just rationally deduce that he is:
-incredibly good to me
-very handsome and I’m terrifically attracted to him
-quite clever and intelligent both
-silly and playful
-thinking I am pretty and tells me so and I think I might believe him
-active and engaged and very impressive
-(and a whole laundry list of things, and trying to make a list is just insulting because it would be infinite. And I can’t keep writing an infinite list, so I have to stop, except that also)
-really quite superb in the sack <blush>

So be rational, woman. Stop freaking out. He is good. You are good. The us is good. In fact, it’s excellent and wonderful. Having a mental breakdown over something good is just about the dumbest thing you could choose to do at this moment.

I feel like a person who almost died, and then someone saved me. He’s my poppet, my sweet boy, The Squeeze.

So I missed a whole month of blogging because I couldn’t find the words to say that I had been at an absolute bottom and then found hope. I was so hungry for hope, but it scares me. Scares me so badly to have any sort of belief that good things could happen.

And even if he doesn’t love me forever, he does love me right now. I met someone who looks like a kid on Christmas morning to be able to wrap his arms around me and have me with him. Honestly, he delights in me. And it’s wonderful and scary.

He does not compliment me the way I had been over the past year. He does not woo me with words. But he worries about whether I’m happy. He bought girl smelling shower gel so that I’d have it in his shower. He volunteered to pick snarls out of my hair. He tells me that he’s thankful and proud of me for navigating my way through an afternoon with his friends. He pitted cherries for me. He cut the end off of a leek when I knew he didn’t think he needed to, just because I said he should. He justs want me to be happy. And so I am.