miso soup.

I love it when I come home from the gym, sweaty, and he hugs and kisses me and tells me I smell like miso soup.

sleep.

I rolled over to him and gently grabbed his shoulders, shaking them slightly.  "Wake up," I said, "please wake up."  Still very much asleep, he grumbled, "What's wrong?" "Nothing's wrong," I said, "but I just need you to hold me.  It's one of those nights.  Please hold me."  Slowly I saw my words register in his mind and he stretched out his arm, his opening move to begin his attempt to appease me.  But we didn't fit.  No matter how we tried, how we twisted and turned, what is normally easy and effortless and innate for us -- that night was impossible.  Each position was uncomfortable.  We both knew it.  Still, he kept trying.  I didn't want him to stop trying, but I knew that if either of us were to have any sleep that night, I would have to give up my request.  "It's not working," I said, "but thanks."  Then I rolled to my side of the bed.

But I didn't sleep.

More and more these days, a comfortable sleep is becoming difficult to obtain.  Some people may prefer to be apart when sleeping, but not me. I dislike it.  I hate feeling as though I am sleeping alone when I'm not.  If I wanted that, I would sleep alone.  What weighs on me more is the fact that we weren't always like this.

We used to sleep tangled in each other, a morass of twisted limbs.  I used to sleep however the hell I wanted, typically with half my legs on him, half on whatever else I wanted.  I would find myself not only breathing air, but his skin, with each inhale -- my face was so often closely pressed somewhere against his body.  It's hardly like that these days.  Our current ritual is to say good night then roll to our respective sides of the bed, backs to each other.  And when we are deep in our sleep, we start to become more like foes than friends.  The battle for the blanket ensues, my efforts to snuggle are rebuffed, and there are moments when I get so annoyed by how he sleeps that I have to elbow him (in the back, no less!) just to get his attention, to tell him to stop twitching, or to move back to his side of the bed, or to get off the blanket so that I can use it, too.  It drives me crazy.

Things have gotten worse.  Now he voluntarily sleeps on the couch some nights, and other nights, I do.  I don't even know why, not really, except sometimes it seems as though we simply can't stand to share the same air with one another.  It's uncomfortable.   Most days nowadays, the only nights that are really great are the ones where I forget that I used to prefer sleeping beside him.  

I miss him, immensely.  I miss us even more.   But I feel trapped in that terrible place where you realize that you can't turn back, but you don't know how to move forward, either.  A little bit stuck, hoping for strength, patience, and love to help you figure it out.   

Anyhow.  I'm tired.  I just want to sleep the way we used to.

Life.

Trying to write this on an iPhone.  Not sure how it looks but oh well.  It has been hard keeping up with the news while on the road.  Everything is in a foreign language.  But Daniel and I were talking about those who survived the tsunami and how they must have a newfound lust for life.   I wonder what that must feel like, to survive a tragedy, how that might affect my perspective on life.  He said he almost died at gunpoint due to an attempted car robbery.  


"Do you have a lust for life then?" I asked. 
"Yes," he replied. 
I scoffed. "How come I haven't seen it?" 
"Because you are it."

Smooth talkers sometime win, I'll admit to that.

Often.

Often I find myself looking at Mr. "Quest for Vagina" and I wonder how it is that I’ve ended up with him.  Admittedly, he is an atypical representation of the men I have dated in the past.  He was only supposed to be a friend.  Definitely a fun.  Maybe a fling.  But that should have been the extent of his impact on my life.  Clearly, the best of intentions can easily crumble in the face of fate.  Somewhere in my willingness to be more carefree and tolerant, he was able to capture that fleeting window of opportunity and transform it into something meaningful, lasting. 

Often I find myself remarking on the asymmetry in our relationship.  By now I’ve secured probably more info than I need to know, but not nearly as much as I want to know, about his life and past.  This is in part due to my naturally probative nature and his natural desire to share; yet, he knows little regarding my past.  He has never bothered to ask, and I’ve never felt compelled to voluntarily divulge.  While I can recall names, facts, and figures about his life, and while I can’t even begin to count how many times I’ve raised my eyebrows, shaken my head, looked utterly aghast at the ridiculousness of his tales or the outrageousness of his antics - he only has a high-level understanding of where I’ve been.  Regardless, he still knows me better than I’d like to admit.

Often I find myself marveling on his observant nature.  There have been times where the pat of my hand or the stroke of my fingers have been slightly different, contrary to what he is normally accustomed to, and he will hone in on those slight differences until I confess to the causes.  He knows my scent, when I’m moody, when I’m amused, and he is smart enough to know when to nurture my crazy tendencies, my romantic tendencies, and everything in between.  I know that by being with him, I am committing myself to a lifetime of never being able to get away with anything – and I mean nothing – because I'm too awful of a liar and he’s too acutely aware of even the slightest deflection in my tone.  It’s peculiar to know that there’s another human being in this world who truly sees me and can see through me.  Maybe this is a blessing, maybe it’s a curse, I’m not sure, but I’m positive it’s a reality. 

Today is March 1.  This month marks a major change in my life, one that will bring about … who knows?  That’s the beauty in it, I think.  As excited as I am for what is to come, the conservative part of me is grateful that I have him to rely on during this time.  He is my security.  Life has, magically, worked out better than I could have ever planned.  I’ll bet that doesn’t happen too often, and I’m even more grateful that not only do I have the good fortune to experience it, but also the sound sense to appreciate it.  As volatile as the future may be, every day he is becoming more of a constant - my needed balance. 

perfect.

A while back, I wrote this:

he tells me i need to enjoy life more and in the small increments of time we get to share, it often feels as though he is silently hoping a little bit of his inner peace could bleed into me.  he wonders how we'd be in the daytime, when the opportunity to sleep and rest aren't paramount priorities, and when the cries of all the obligations and duties i take on tug and pull at me in all sorts of directions.  i laugh, and remind him to show, not tell, for telling me to be a certain way and encouraging me to change are two surefire methods to keep me completely stagnant. 

it's a good thing he knows how to listen.

going with the flow is a difficult task for me because i am a person who likes to control the flow.  but he asked, and complying was the least i could do given all of his efforts.  and, now, i can't even really begin to describe how grateful i am that he pushed, and that i dropped my defenses for a brief moment.  because had i not, i wouldn't have enjoyed such a perfect evening.

perfect.  perfect's not a word that gets tossed around easily.  but, perfect is the only word that even comes close to describing the perfect weather, with the perfect sounds of the booming ocean waves, the perfect little palm trees in the distance that resembled oversized mushrooms planted in the the perfect sand, and the perfect night sky decorated with undulating streaks of perfect pale pink.  and, when Mandalay came on the stereo, i knew that he had also planned the perfect playlist.  we took perfect bundled-up mini cat naps, and, it was even more perfect that we finished the night with his less-than-perfect response to being flashed in the face by an officer's bright flash light.  :) 

oh, the memories.  oh, this memory.  i love knowing that perfection is perfectly possible.

Today, I was restless and read through some old emails of ours and stumbled across this line from the mister:  "i just recalled, you did snore on perfect night. how imperfectly inappropriate for such a perfect night with perfect palm trees planted in the perfect sand... okay i'll stop."

He makes me laugh.  He still takes me to beach late at night and together we marvel at the booming sound of the waves and talk about all of the intangible, befuddling, aspects of this existence.  Every day he teaches me how to be a better person, one who loves life a little bit more, one who becomes increasingly grateful for everything she has, and one who is not saddened by everything she has not yet experienced.  And during the moments where I notice our imperfections, I remind myself that imperfections are the norm, but achieving perfection -- now that's something that's rare and precious.  Just like us.

the beast at night.

He's violent in bed.  No, I don't mean sexually -- I mean that at night, while he sleeps, he transforms into a different man, one who is self-serving, demanding, unintentionally violent in a way.  It's hard for me to describe.  But I dislike it very much.

Lately I have been haranguing him about the way he sleeps.  I come home exhausted, wanting to crawl into his arms, but he constantly rebuffs me -- turning his back, moving to the other side of the bed, all of which frustrates me to no end.  My expectations for nighttime sleeping are high; I suppose that this is an after-effect of a marvelous vacation, one where every night for over two weeks we slept inches apart.  I have grown accustomed to falling asleep safely cocooned in his arms.  Perhaps when he was away from home, he needed a piece of home (me) to help ease him into slumber, but now that we are back in the comforts of our own bed, I'm no longer needed.  :(

Whomp, whomp, whomp.

I'm not so much insulted as I am confused.  During the daytime, he is exceptionally loving, exceedingly affectionate, and there is no doubt in my mind that I am wanted, cared for, loved.  But as he sleeps, the beast in him awakens, and I am met with rough shoves, rude protestations, and an unrecognizable coldness.  I wonder how these disparate beings could be one person, but mostly, I wonder how am I to adore this side of him, as well?  And the only plausible solution I have conjured is that I will simply have to try, and he will also try to be who I need, and somewhere down the line, at some point, our mutual efforts will intersect at a harmonious compromise.  

Healthy, happy, functional relationship.  I think I'm still dumbfounded that I'm in one. 

there i am.

Something warm.  I remember something warm grazing my face, my cheek, I'm not sure where exactly because I was only coherent enough to notice the warmth pulsating from that general vicinity.  I also wasn't sure where I was physically at.  I hadn't been sure for a while because I had been on the move, seemingly jumping about from one city, state, or country to the next every day or so.  There was so much traveling involved that I gave up on trying to keep track of it all, preferring to let my mind orient itself based on what I saw, smelled, tasted, not based on what a geography book might tell me about my whereabouts.  I told myself that knowing didn't matter -- if the details were important, once back at home, I could always align the pins across a map after the fact to retrace the steps I took.  So I started to forget the typical indicators - roads and signs and guidelines - because hell, they were all written in a foreign language I didn't understand, which made them all the easier to ignore.  The typically structured and orderly me finally gave up the good fight and succumbed to just rolling with things. 

Seconds before I was in a heavy sleep.  That warm sensation startled me and started to wake me up, if one could describe a weak blink from only one eye lasting half a second a valid attempt at awaking.  But the feeling was jarring, very noticeable, because I was cold and everything around me felt cold.  It had been raining where where I was at and subconsciously, I'm sure I knew that I was still in the tropics, moving about underneath a grey sky laden with heavy, plump, water-filled clouds.  I knew there shouldn't have been anything warm near me.  Yet there it was, but I was too tired to figure it out.  I went back to sleep.  But I felt it again.  It felt very nice against my cold face.  Soft.  Warm.  Warm, soft, soft, warm, there was a hint of a breath on my skin . . . and then I knew exactly where I was at:  I was next to him.

We had spent the past few weeks together virtually day and night, spending our waking and sleeping hours in tight, compact spaces.  Automobiles and buses and airplanes and cheap motels and hotels.   And while the world around us changed, varying from extremely different scenery of flat plains to red rocks to green forests to beige deserts to sandy beaches to volcanic mountains, we stayed grounded by hanging onto each other.  I chuckled a silent chuckle, unpatting that silent pat on the back I had given myself.  Because I hadn't traveled as much as I thought I traveled; I was always carrying a piece of home with me - him.  And in that moment, without having to open my eyes to confirm the accuracy of my guess, I knew he was kissing my cheek, like he has done countless times in the past, like I have grown accustomed to receiving, wanting, needing. 

While losing myself for temporary moments of time feels lovely, weightless, I like even better knowing that there is someone in this world who can bring me back to where I am always aching to be:  right next to him.

call of duty.

Lately I have been playing a lot of Call of Duty - Black Ops with the mister.  I honestly have never been a video game person, having played maybe a few games of that helicopter-shooting game (y'all know what I'm talking about?) waaaaaaay back in the day.   But he kept asking me to give it a try and I finally agreed in order for us to spend time together doing an activity he enjoys.   I'm still a newbie and not very good, but I'm a lot better than I thought I'd be!  And it's also a lot more fun than I thought it would be.

On occasion I will sit next to him and just watch him play.  I notice how calm he remains, how his remote control stays in one spot in his hands, the way his fingers nimbly maneuver the keys, how he barely makes any noise unless he makes a mistake.  I, on the other hand, am a raging hot mess.  My body, hands, head, arms -- everything -- moves in relation to where I want my avatar to move, my fingers jab jab jab unrelentingly at the buttons in a crazy manner when I'm stuck in a difficult spot, and I shamefully squeal and scream whenever zombies attack me unexpectedly.  Sometimes I will also play with his friends and him and in those moments, I am reminded of my eighteen year-old self, the one who used to date another boy who was in love with video games (StarCraft was the poison of choice back in the day).  

I remember being extremely bored back then while watching the boys play, often times waiting for hours as a spectator.  I tried to annoy my then-boyfriend in order to get him to quit playing and would do things for attention, like play sappy love songs in the background or call him lovey-dovey nicknames loudly enough to ensure that all of his pals heard, too.  I tried to embarrass him in front of his boys when he wouldn't give up his games for me.  It was always a battle back then for his time and I always wanted him to choose me above everything else.  Which meant that we frequently argued because he only sometimes chose me.  It's a good thing that almost a decade has  passed since then.


For one -- the ex never once offered to teach me how to play while the mister was the one who implored me to give COD a try, continually trying to convince me to give it a go even when I snobbishly told him that I'd prefer to read books and get smarter in my spare time than shoot virtual people.  For another --  today I am perfectly accepting of the mister having interests that I do not share.  Even when I feel ignored, I'm fully confident that if I simply ask for his time instead of making a childish commotion, in ten minutes there will be Letters to Juliet playing in the background as we bake brownies together.  I finally trust that making me happy makes him happy.  


So, COD ain't so bad.  Besides, it's kind of sexy when I die and the mister has to come revive me, blasting his way all the way to me, expertly navigating the obstacles in order to save me before it's too late.  I've always wanted a man who knows how to resuscitate me, and even if for now it's only virtually, I'm sure if I ever needed it in real life - he'd still always show up just in time.

happy [belated] birthday to me.

A year ago, I was on a plane heading back from my sister's wedding in the Caribbeans and I wrote the following about my goal to understand myself a little more thoroughly:

"Why?  Well, too many reasons to count, but if I had to distill it down to just one - it would be the age-old purpose (problem?) of finding one's self.  I am not suffering from a crisis.  I am not depressed.  I am not looking for any major revelations.  I am just, however, curious as to how this girl I see every morning has come to be.  I do not think I have paid her enough attention over the years.  I think I owe her a bit more of my time, of my understanding."

Overall, I think 2010 was a rousing success, at least in that department, although not quite as much in other aspects of my life.  I'm feeling better about myself, more content in who I am, where I am headed, than I have felt in a long time.  I now have a stronger sense of self and it's truly a lovely feeling.  There's no drama in my life; I can't remember the last time I had a moment of real self-loathing; I'm constantly grateful to be alive and am with a man who shows me how to actually live.  2010 is headed towards a fabulous close and on the horizon is an even better start to 2011. 

This birthday passed by with very little fanfare, but it was still quite great.  Best wishes and love were sent my way from my nearest and dearests.  There was a spectacular dinner and an excessive amount of desserts.  Plenty of laughs.  But best of all were the amazing conversations with the mister about life, love, and the whole affair of things.  Oh, and somewhere in there was an iPad that I'm considering keeping though right now it's not looking likely because my fingertips feel as though they've been burnt!  <3 

P.S. More exercise is needed, sigh, as I'm unlikely to sacrifice the sweeter (and decadent) things in life.  I mean -- just LOOK at that phenomenal chocolate molten lava cake!  Irresistible.

the couple vibe.

In my building sometimes I come across this young couple, and while they are complete strangers to me, each time I see them I can't help but walk a little bit slower to examine them.  For one, they are both incredibly good-looking, but what draws me to them are the feelings I get when I am near them.  They're often with their two tiny, but rambunctious, little pugs, and yet as a whole - the entire family feels so serene.  They are a peaceful, calm, couple.  Those are the feelings that emanate from them - their couple vibe, if there is such a thing.

The couple above is a stark contrast to another couple I know.  This other couple is also good-looking and they too have two rambunctious little pugs.  Yet, when I am near them, all I want to do is move further away.  As happy as they are with one another, as in love as they are, they wear me out.  Their energy is one I can only describe as hyper everything -- every feeling and emotion is amplified around them.  And I don't gravitate towards that at all.

Then I think about other couples I know.  For some of them, I think that they're just adorable together and perfect for one another.  For others, I find myself acknowledging how much they love each other.  For some, I find myself thinking that they settled, but that they're content with that choice.  For others still - I count the days until they will break-up, because they're so terribly wrong for each other but too blind, stubborn, or scared to admit it. 

Naturally, I can't help but wonder what couple vibe the mister and I give off.  What do complete strangers see, feel, when they are around us?  I suppose I could ask my friends, but I'm still trying to determine if I want to know.  It's probably a little too soon, too early for an accurate reading.

bedtime hours.

Lately I have been going to bed at atrocious hours, somewhere between 1-3 am when normally I would prefer to be knocked out cold by 12 am on a work night.  Part of that has been due to several weeks' worth of equally atrocious work demands, but mostly, I have been heading to bed so late because I've been trying to keep the mister's sleeping hours.   But trying to keep up with him has been a bad idea for many reasons.  I'm not a student; he is.  I can't function on less than 8 hours; he's fine with 5.  I don't want to age prematurely; I'm not sure that's a real concern of his.  

On the weekends where I don't have to work, the lack of sleep catches up to me and I find myself waking up in the afternoon.  While I will defend my right to sleep like a hibernating polar bear until death, the truth is, sleeping in like that only feels good for the first day or two.  Thereafter, I just feel like a bum.  On most days by the time 1 pm rolls around I will have completed what feels like a million tasks; but on my lazy days, I can't even find the desire to crawl out from underneath my blanket.  I transform from being a motivated professional to a complete sloth, and I do not enjoy those slovenly feelings at all.

It has occurred to me that somewhere, somehow, along the way I've grown out of being that hippie college student I've known (and loved) for so many years.  This surprises me.  This unnerves me.  She has been such an important part of my life; I'm not sure I like this change or if I'm ready for it.  Also disconcerting is that I'm not sure if I know how to bring her back, and even if I could, if I would.  A real quandary.

normal human being.

"How can a woman be expected to be happy with a man who insists on treating her as if she were a perfectly normal human being." --Oscar Wilde

Oscar Wilde seriously has some of my favorite quotes.  They tend to border on the pretentious, yet they still make utter sense to me.  And while at times it may not be that fun to realize that I am, indeed, a perfectly normal human being - it's perfectly fine for the mister to treat me like one.  Humans need to eat and this little human loves to chow.   He is currently away, but before he left he made sure to marinate lots of chicken drumsticks with his special marinade that I love.  Special ingredient:  pineapple juice.  Yum. 

[That fogginess is due to the steam from the freshly-cooked chicken and rice.  Delish.]

on airports.

We stood at the airport curbside, hugging and kissing, me saying goodbye to him yet again, him getting ready to hop onto yet another plane.  A surprisingly smiley airport worker (they're usually so grim and miserable) saw us and exclaimed, "You two must be newlyweds the way you're acting!"  I blushed; too much PDA, perhaps, but who cares, he was leaving and I was sad.  And secretly I was excited to hear that comment. 

When we first met, I told him of my unwillingness to be in yet another long distance relationship.  For inexplicable reasons, the past few guys I have dated have all been from afar and I was tired of it.  Absolutely sick of the airports, the flights, the coordination, the long periods of time apart, the horrendous mobile phone bills... so I said, no, no more of that.  He looked at me and said I was stupid.  He didn't understand how I could ostracize myself from so many possibilities simply because I wanted my future partner to come from within a particular geographic vicinity.  But I just dismissed his arguments and stood my ground.   I figured I wouldn't see him often and that I wouldn't make the effort to, either. 

But he kept returning.  And he kept returning.  And he kept coming back, staying longer, and together we made more memories, shared more laughs, until one day I realized that the only person I wanted to get to know more was him.  He became worth the hassle, distance and all.

So here we are.  I still hate airports.  I still vehemently dislike being in a long distance relationship, but I am immeasurably happy with him.  And now I have a reason to smile to myself because when I think about him, I am reminded that every now and then it might be worth it to be wrong.

pancakes and poker.

Most of the time, I feel very "adult" with the numerous responsibilities, obligations, and duties I take on.  There are, however, the occasional unplanned moments where I allow myself to be a kid again and where I forget about propriety and appropriateness.  I love those moments.  At 10:30 at night, Daniel spontaneously proposed making pancakes and playing cards.  I immediately went to the pantry to see if luck was supportive of our impromptu plans.  It was.  I found a box of pre-made pancake mix, Daniel added some water, threw some butter into a pan, and several minutes later, made each of us a stack of delicious pancakes to complete our night.

[I had mine with a little medley of fruit.]

[And because Daniel doesn't eat fruit, he just made himself a huge stack of goodness to compensate for the lack of pretty colors.  :)]

[We opted for poker.  I won!  I cleaned him out after making a statistically-unwise choice of calling his all-in bet when he had two pairs to my one.  But I picked up a King on the river and ended up beating his two pairs with my higher set.  Talk about luck.]

the cliche.

[note from daniel on the bathroom mirror]

I'm blow-drying my hair, staring at the bathroom mirror, looking at my freshly-scrubbed but tired face.  I'm running late, as I am most mornings.  Most days he's still warmly snuggled in bed when I'm up and about, still enjoying the remaining days of his limited "freedom".  But today he was feeling particularly productive, and he was up with me, making coffee.  "Can you please choose something for me to wear today?" I shout.  He comes into the bathroom a few minutes later carrying one of my many black dresses and holds it against me, still on the hanger, assessing whether he likes it or not.  I laugh.  "No, not that one - that dress barely covers my ass; I can't wear it to work."  He takes it away and comes back a few minutes later with a different (and appropriate) black dress.  "I like it," he says, so I put it on, then quickly run a few comb strokes through my damp hair.  He hugs me from behind.  "You're pretty," he says.  I smile.  I can't wait until the day is over and I can return home to him.

In those gentle moments, I forget precisely why I am so tired, why I was running late yet again.  Because the mornings are extra brutal and painful when, for the previous week, night after night I've been up to the wee hours of the morning working on an assignment that's new, challenging, perplexing, but exceedingly frustrating because there's no manageable way to do it all in the time period allotted.  So I sacrifice sleep, energy, coordination, all the while consoling myself by believing that it's just temporary.  And while I am often reminded of how tough my life can be in certain moments, he always counteracts all the negativity by reminding me of how lovely it is, as well.  


I no longer wake up in the mornings muttering expletives; instead, I roll over, tap his arm, and place myself in that comfortable nook I've grown accustomed to for a few minutes before it's time to really get up.  I no longer return home to an empty and vacant apartment; instead, I return home to a lit apartment that's full of (usually fatty) scents from whatever he has cooked during the day.  Though I am still perfectly content with entertaining myself with only the silence of my thoughts, still perfectly fine with being my own best friend, I've realized that by opting for that solitary life, I rarely laughed, rarely smiled, and while not lonely, it felt a bit. . . unfulfilling.  I can't really identify my favorite thing about him because I don't think that it is a trait or a characteristic to which I can readily point; it's that he has changed me by just existing.  And whether he initially set out to do so or not, I owe him very much for proving to me that I am more than just a cliche.