Playing With Matches

What started as a means of chronicling the online dating experiences of two picky yet adventurous almost thirty somethings has turned into a chronicle of all that is, was and has made up their collective dating histories. Our two original daters are now joined by several other fun, breezy, sassy gals, and Playing With Matches is now a missive on dating misadventures, a cacophony of ups and downs, turmoil and bliss. With a bit of snark mixed in here and there.

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

I needed instigation.

Since Dr. Strangelove got the ball re-rolling, I thought I’d prove her wrong and write, without real trepidation, about my “Wow, is this really happening” relationship.

It’s not so much that I have been refraining from putting pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard, whatever the case my be) because I am afraid to “jinx” what appears from both the inside and the outside to be working so well. It’s not even that I am paranoid that he is someday going to hop onto my laptop and find this blog—a diary, of sorts, chronicling our rise and fall and rise (among other things). And it’s not because I want to keep this all to myself, to enjoy it for what it is and not share it with the world.

It’s because, dear readers, I’m lazy. I admit it. I have been depriving you of my conquests and happiness because I haven’t felt like writing about it. And, because of an overall lackadaisical feel that has seemingly overcome this once vibrant, entertaining and snarky blog, I have, for once, kept my words to myself.

Oh, but no longer shall this be the case.

One week from today marks the four month mark for me and RCB. Four months. In those four months, we’ve done and gone through a lot. He’s met and hung out with a good portion of my besties. There have been many long, arduous, thought provoking and emotional conversations—both with him and about him. I have had my moments of anxiety and insecurity, but, these days, those feelings are emoted less and less (and, one could even say, close to infrequently).

We have met and hung out with each others’ families. We have talked about the nebulous future, one that includes a blurry but potentially eventual marriage and children. We plan not just for the now but for the distant future; a man who, at one time, would become visibly agitated when I tried, on Tuesday, to make plans for Friday is now saying things like, “would you consider [such and such] two years from now?” We know each other’s weaknesses and strengths and know how to tiptoe around the moodiness that is inevitable (though thankfully not very common) in those whose lives can go from stagnant to unbelievably busy in just the snap of fingers. We can finish each other’s sentences, he always finishes my dinners. A brush of his fingers along my shoulders or a quick kiss goodbye in the morning still brings a chill to my simultaneously warming body. When I turn over and unconsciously shift away from him in the night, he grabs for me to come back. In fits of insomnia, when I leave the bedroom and go out to the couch, he comes looking for me. Even while silent, we are never at a loss for words. We always do the crossword puzzle together, his knowledge of all things obscure in the literary and sports worlds mingling nicely with my ability to spell and my affinity for pop culture. I watch sports on television, he watches my CBS Monday night lineup and other television shows I know he’d rather not. We cook elaborate dinners together, for ourselves and for friends, cracking open a bottle of wine along the way. Yes, I even drink wine now. And I even like it. But not as much as I like how happy and safe and relaxed he makes me feel.

Enough with the cheese.

This ode to my own relationship was instigated party by Dr. S but also by events of this past weekend, when RCB and I went on the trip of all trips. We spent four days at a beautiful resort very much southwest of town. During one of my fabulous spa treatments, I lay on the table, covered in mud and swaddled in towels and tin foil, with a lavender eye pillow covering my eyes, when it hit me: “RD,” my inner voice said, “look at how relaxed you are. You are really not worried about anything, are you? When was the last time you felt this way?”

And, I couldn’t even remember.

1 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Are you living together now? Have you held on to activities and friends of old? If so, sounds like you are in a great relationship!
If not, don't paint yourself into a corner. It's ok to be apart once in a while...

7:48 AM  

Post a Comment

<< Home