ST and I had a wonderful Thanksgiving weekend together.  Lots of food, lots of love, and lots of sitting our asses.  I have yet again f*cked up my left ankle, this time the tendon sheath over the top, and I’m trying to rest it.

We had prepared for the long weekend by purposely holding off on our latest Netflix arrivals (The Lake House and Boondock Saints) as well as finally using up some Blockbuster money I’d had since June (Nacho Libre and Chronicles of Narnia).  But by Sunday afternoon, the movie well was dry. 

We’d just come home from the condo (I’d insisted we make a brief pass over it with a broom and dust rag), I needed to put the ankle up and veg for a bit.  So I popped a Sex in the City DVD in.

ST has never really watched any of the series, and was restless in that Sunday evening way that had him pinging from room to room with little tasks.  But who can resist plot lines where Virgin Mary statues replace vibrators?  Soon he had settled in next to me and we were watching the “Are we sluts?” episode.

When Carrie is all huffed that Aiden is in the bathroom for an hour, and it turned out he was drawing a romantic bath for two, I turned to ST and mummbled and gestured.  It was the type of comment that wasn’t meant to be articulated fully, the gist of it being fully formed on the television set. 

Except…

“What did you just say?”

“I said….why don’t you draw me a bath….with salads…”

“That’s what I thought I heard.”

“But I meant candles!”

“One bath with salad, coming up.”

We were doing the weekly grocery shopping on Sunday when ST spotted a buy-one-get-one-free ad for the generic 2-L soda.

“This is a good deal!”  I agreed that it was, then wondered why he was still standing there.

“So, can we get some?”

This isn’t the first time he’s asked; kowtowed to the crown of grocery shopping I was unaware bestowed upon me.  Oh sure, he may argue on points here or there (organic eggs, for example), but for the most part once we get in the door my list rules supreme.

The point of this story is my answer: Yes.

I often try to figure out or articulate why things work with ST that didn’t work with others.  Why we’re deeper in debt than I was with ex yet we don’t fight about money.  Why I never believed the phrase, “There’s no such thing as bad sex” until him.  How it’s possible with four cats, a dog, a guinea pig, and two forgetful people to (mostly) stay on top of the housework without so much as one raised voice.

 The easy answer is that we both say yes a lot.  Neither of us has gone without a foot or back rub anytime one was requested.  He’s eaten his first tofu dogs, I’ve had my first meal of deer burger.  Whatever our little hearts desire in the rhelm of food and/or entertainment are almost always instantly granted.

But…why?  Why is it so easy to say yes to each other when many people who know us might throw the words prideful and stingy into descriptions they thought would never get back to us?

I can tell you that in other relationships, I haven’t bothered to ask for much because I was afraid of that, “No”.  In other relationships, I’ve used excel spreadsheets to determine who owes who what and what day of the week with what moon phase I might be able to get what’s due.

With him, I am comfortable and content.  I don’t need a list to determine what I get can ask for; if anything I self-police that I’m not getting too much without giving enough in return.

If I could give any advice to anyone in relationship, it would be to ask yourself what’s your yes comfort-level.   

*The title is on a magnet the ex put in the Christmas stocking once. 

There are times I think I can’t do this.

I used to say that maybe it was me.  I meant it.  But what I meant more was, prove me wrong.  Be the one.  The one that changes everything.

He’s the one.  He has changed everything.  And I still have times I think I can’t do this.  It really is me.

And yet…I know that I will.  In part because I know he can read that and understand.  He knows me better than anyone in the world, he knows that too.

Today was one of those days.  Such silly shit.  Chores and money, time tables and to-do lists.  What to have for dinner.  When to take a nap.  How long to study.

But then, I’m taking a break watching TV and he’s already in bed and at the end of the show, I have to go to him.  I have to.  I would feel empty otherwise.

We giggle and stroke, sigh and climax.  He calls me perfect, forgetting that he once told me I could never be perfect (no one could), but that I was perfect for him.

It is these times that I think, how can anyone not do this?

For those playing along since the beginning, you know the quote that started my blogging:
 
“I can’t stand drama queens, but I am unable to relinquish the crown.”
 
At time when my life was in turmoil, but necessitated a very put-together façade, I turned to writing again to unleash all the emotions I couldn’t share.

 
And I wrote about emotions.  The specific details were often exaggerated.  For the most part they were true to some degree – although not always.  While I think the school-girl (and completely harmless) crush I had on a new friend while in the middle of my divorce would probably make him laugh, I’m not so sure his now wife would share in the chuckle.  (Actually, she probably would.  She has one of those tight-faced laughs for when she’s uncomfortable.)
 
If you read what I wrote about him?  You wouldn’t think so school-girl and harmless.  Or maybe you would.  That’s the beauty of writing.  Half the time the things I put down I don’t know what they mean – I turn to the readers to set me straight.
 
But as the reader myself, going over those old posts?  I cringe at the idea of him reading them.  Of trying to explain I was lonely and fanciful and I would sometimes grab onto a person to tie those fancies into words.
 
I really viewed blogging, for myself, as writing.  And I mostly write fiction.
 
But off and on, it’s become more, well, blogging to me.  If I’m going to write fiction, it shouldn’t be between trips to Ireland and school applications, right?  I started to feel that I was hiding behind that “fiction” label – a get out of jail free card.  Don’t like what I wrote?  Don’t like the person portrayed in it?  Don’t worry; it’s not true.  It’s not me.
 
When the new boy and I broke up, it seemed blogging enhanced the drama.  I still remember reading about his brother-in-law’s suicide for the first time.  I remember checking my stats to see if he’d stopped by.  It felt coy and junior high and looking back, I really don’t see what the big deal was.  We had a thing, nothing serious, and it ended.  Yes, it ended with bad timing and confusion and a lot of other shit going down in my life then, but still.
 
Of course, blogging also has enhanced the good as well as the bad.  TG fell for my eyes, my tits, my sarcasm, and my words.  I loved to stretch the euphoria of a good date out on the screen without worrying what the guy might think.  But as the relationship went on, and it was more than just a date, the junior high feelings crept back.
 
ST fell for all those things too, of course.  (Oh, and the gray streak in my hair.)  And  with him, I’ve never felt the need to censor or pass notes in study hall.  (See, right there?  Fiction!  I’ve never attended a study hall in all my life.  I had “free periods” in which I could do pretty much whatever I pleased.)
 
But also with him, I’ve felt a peace I’ve never had before.  There is no drama to share, despite the fact that sometimes I feel my life is more pressured and hectic right now than it ever was.
 
So have I truly relinquished the crown?  And if so, can I ever be a good writer again?

Everyone has certain tricks – wiggling their ears, burping the alphabet, something that makes them unique and strange.

Me?  I talk to sleeping people.

I don’t know if it’s the timbre of my voice, or that I’ve honed the exact right amount of questioning that should go into a conversation, but give me someone in blissful slumber and I can give you an interesting dialogue.

Me:  Honey, is there anything I can get you?

ST:  Money.

Me:  Money?  Why do you want money from me?

ST:  I need fifty cents for milk.

(ST hates drinking milk unless it’s a newly opened carton.  He drinks chocolate or soy.)

Me:  Where do you get milk?

ST:  Everyday.

Me:  No, WHERE?  Do you get milk at work?

ST:  Kindergarten.

(Pause for my laughter.)

Me:  Kindergarten?

ST:  It’s retro.

(Pause for me to try and ascertain if he’s truly asleep or fucking with me.  Asleep.)

Me:  I was thinking of giving you sex, but if you want fifty cents for milk…

ST:  I’ll take the sex.

Me:  Then how will you get your milk?

ST:  Through the Internet.

Me:  How will you get milk through the Internet?

ST:  The INTERNET.

Me:  No, HOW?

ST:  Through a big pipe line.

There you go people.  Internets got milk?

Shortly after this conversation, I yelled at the dog for drinking out of the toilet and ST asked what was going on.  When I explained, he jumped in with this helpful statement, “Little Dog!  You get in here under this license plate!”

Indeed.

Living with ST is amazing, but in some ways un-noteworthy in my mind.  I was pretty convinced we’d get along well otherwise I’d have never made this decision.

I do a lot of the housework right now, since I’m unemployed.  It might become an issue when my schedule tightens up, but I doubt it.

I know he thinks we’re careful and respectful of each other based on our previous experiences living with others.  That might be so, but I also think we’re just getting too old for that shit.  Yes, we’re set in our ways.  But we also are fairly certain of what we have to have, and what we can let go.  Not everything is life or death, a power struggle, or signs of devotion/descent in the ranks.

So far, the biggest problem has been his schedule.  He’s still going into work around 1:30am to try and “manage from the floor”.  (Warehouse floor, receiving starts at 2am.)

This means that anywhere between 6 and 9pm, he turns into a pumpkin.  While I can entertain myself, I’ve known for a long time a huge flaw of mine is wandering.  My mind, my body, my hands…I’ve lived in apartments where I’ve kept exactly one door shut – the front one.  Every other closet, pantry, nook, and cranny must be open and available for multi-tasking at all times.  Today I tried to fold laundry but decided I really had to start cooking the chicken in the middle.  I get thirsty and on the way to kitchen I sweep the bathroom.  Sad that I can’t even blame this on MTV since my parents still to this day do not have cable.

So, I feel a bit like I’ve had a hand tied behind my back with the bedroom door closed for most of the evening.  Not to mention the only working toliet is in there as well.

But ST is also a bit of a romantic.  He doesn’t like to go to bed without me.  This can sometimes mean I go to bed at 6pm, or he falls asleep on the couch refusing to move until I do.  Again, this isn’t so bad now.  But soon (Thursday?), my nights will be needed for studying. 

And it’s quite possible I’ll start to notice the sleep I’m losing when he gets up at 1am – that’s half the reason I’m able to accommadate him now, I’m sleepy myself.

In fact, it’s 9:15 and I’m feeling a bit peaked.  Think I’ll go lie down… 

At a red light, I cup ST’s cheek in my hand. I’ve been cranky because we are shopping and I am the only woman in the world evidently that hates that shit.

“Baby, you are the man of my dreams.”

“…you must have some weird dreams then.”

“Yup. I’m just waiting for you to bring out the chicken suit.”

The Internet connection I am used to borrowing at the cabin was just too weak this time around. And I never made it once to The Brew Moon Cafe. It’s the first trip I’ve ever brought my laptop with and had it turn out to be a waste. Not that I’m complaining.

ST and I got on a plane (a few hours and a few Long Island ice teas behind schedule) last Saturday. We bummed around my old neighborhood Sunday until mid-afternoon, then hopped in my mother’s pseudo-SUV and drove to the cabin.

My brother followed a few hours later, my parents the next day.

We berry-picked. We swam. We napped. We hiked waterfalls. We grilled. We did jigsaw puzzles. We had incredibly inappropriate breakfasts.

A perfect vacation. Everyone got along. ST loved the cabin and the area. It ended on a rather omnious note with ST and I spending our last afternoon purchasing and installing a new refridgerator. But really, even that was a great test of us working together under pressure, one we amazingly passed.

And we still got everything done in time for a dinner of cheese and crackers, Boon’s Farm, s’mores, and fireworks.

We got home exhausted Saturday and spent yesterday toting things from the condo. It goes on sale Wednesday. It’s all a blur to me. I feel like I haven’t lived in the real world for months. There’s so much to be done. There are hairballs big enough to count as dependents back at the condo, not to mention the stink of dog pee on the new porch (ST, you are no longer qualified to say where Busch will or won’t use the facilities).

But first I really need to round up some breakfast…

I should be in bed.  But I’m enjoying a few minutes to myself.  The list for this week seems endless, and full of un-concrete things.  Little can be done by simply rolling my sleeves.

ST and I spent Saturday and Sunday in Georgia with his family.  We got there late Saturday, after a fairly pleasantly drive.  We started rocky, his nerves a little shot over seeing his grandfather and wondering if it will be the last time.  But we seem pretty good at smoothing those sorts of things over.  And the drive was shorter than we expected, always a bonus.

Of course, I was immediately faced with a situation I never thought I’d deal with in my entire life.  The bedroom was already occupied by two deer heads.

I slept with deer heads.

I had sex with deer heads watching.

ST hadn’t given it a moment’s thought that this would bother me.  After all, I did know his family hunted and I was OK with this (if you eat it after you kill it and it’s all legal, I’m cool).  But…dude.  I do not mount the Styrofoam from my organic chicken breast and hang it on the living room wall.

He offered to take them down, but I didn’t want to make it a big deal.  I just needed a moment to adjust.  It’s like when you open the closet door and thought it was the bathroom.  Except there’s a deer.  Wearing a hat.

Sunday I got up before him and had coffee and breakfast with his mom.  We touched on just about every topic and it felt awkward but good to start this sort of relationship again.

Once ST was up, we played with the dogs and toured the property until lunch.  Then it was off to see the grandparents.

His grandmother was the talkative one; she reminded me of my grandmother a bit.  His grandfather was obviously in bad health, but it’s hard for me to say how severe not having a picture in my mind to compare. 

Just like with my grandparents, I started to feel tired and a bit stir crazy just sitting there.  We broke it up with a walk outside, but still.

His grandmother did slip a bit when discussing the (HUGE) family tree.

“And then there’s Jessica…so with you, we’ll have two.”

I just nodded and smiled, as did ST.  He thinks it might have been some sort of test, but hasn’t a clue what the right answer was.

Back at his parent’s, we once again played with the dogs and ended up swimming when he threw Tess’s (black lab) toy in the pool and it didn’t float.

We went out for dinner, got loopy in Wal-mart, hit the Dairy Queen, and then headed home.

Around 3am, his mom knocked on the door.  His grandfather had fallen, he and his dad needed to help get him up.

I know he feels horrible about it, but in a weird way I feel grateful for the coincidence.  He got to help.  It’s one more event that he won’t hear about over the phone five days later.

I thought we’d be up for good after he got back.  But sex is a pretty good tension reliever.  I just hope the deer don’t talk.

We got on the road early Monday.  I think I won points with his father when he questioned how I could walk barefoot over the gravel drive.

“I’m fine.  I have hard feet.  To go with my hard head.”

Loaded down with peaches, watermelon, corn, and butter beans, we headed out.  It was such an easier ride than we anticipated that I called my grandmother on the way and arranged for us to visit.  It was only an hour or so, but nice to see them.  We had Busch with us, and he was a huge hit as most animals are with them.

Back at his place, I cleaned while he went hunting a broiling pan for the steaks my grandparents gave us.  Enough travel and we’ll never have to grocery shop.

We ate, cuddled, and in a moment of alertness I hopped up and drove home before turning into a pumpkin.

I’m glad to be sitting here, with Sheba at my side.  But at the same time I hate being apart from him.  Of course, by the time I return from Costa Rica I should be able to have it all.

Yesterday was hard.  It started.  The wet summer time where I will bring socks home from the sanctuary that smell like swamp-ass.  If I were you, I would not venture into my closet with the laundry pile right now.

I need to invest in some waterproof boots, a neccessity for the Costa Rica trip but perhaps more for my sanity and feet skin right now.  Sports Authority had an entire wall of men’s hiking boots.  For women, they had three pairs.  Two waterproof high tops I can’t wear because of my ankles (only one had my size left anyway) and one pair of low top non-waterproof boots and what’s the good in that?

I haven’t been exercising lately.  Too busy.  Too sunburned.  Being back at the sanctuary means I get a good workout three times a week.  Unfortunately, being back at the sanctuary means I need to get more good workouts into my schedule so my body is strong enough to withstand those workouts.  I didn’t even do that much yesterday, but a lot of standing and walking.  My hamstrings are so sore that I couldn’t sleep last night.

ST and I will look at an apartment today.  I want to like it a lot because I love my condo and I don’t want to be sad letting it go.  Moving means being with ST and that should be a happy thing.  I think it will be hard to like an apartment after living here, in the first place I’ve called home.  We really wanted a house, with a yard.  (Have you counted the animals?)  But the rental market is horrible in Florida right now.  Everything is going condo, putting rentals at a premium.

Us living apart though is awful.  And yes, I mean that in a romantic I-want-to-be-with-him way.  But pragmatically, it is awful in what it does to my schedule, my gas allowance, my eating habits, simply my time management.  I don’t mean to complain, and he’s worth it as I stated previously since he recharges me.  I’d be a hell of a lot snippier if I was doing all of this just to feel drained in the evening.

We’re trying to piece together some trips, and I really need some confirmation and planning.  I hate that I’m nagging him every day about what his boss said, but everything is so hectic for me right now.  We’re supposed to try and get away Sunday-Monday in a week.  I will have a lab report due that Wednesday, take the lab final Thursday, the final exam Friday, leave for Costa Rica the Monday after.  A girl needs to know what’s up with weeks like that.

The other trip would be to see my family.  That I need to know for entirely different reasons.  I need to know we’ll get a real vacation together – where all this real life stuff can be ignored.  I need to have airline confirmations to look at and sigh when I get scared about my mom.

All of this talk of busy, I’d better go do something other than stare at a computer screen.