Living with me is not easy. There, I said it. GMR will read this and aloud he will say, “Aww, that’s not true at all!” But, I bet in his inside thoughts there are times he says, “Whew! You said it!” GMR is too polite to me. I mean, maybe sometimes he needs to say, “When you fall in love with your male characters, it hurts my feelings—especially if they are nothing like me . . .” But, he does not. Oh. Wait. He doesn’t know I sometimes fall in love with my male characters . . . . heehee, well, I guess he does now. Heehee.
I go so deep inside my own thoughts and my own world and the world of my characters that I forget he is there. Suddenly, there is this man looking at me. I say, “Huh? Wha?” and he says, “I just asked if you’d like some seared scallops with cream sauce, a side of risotto, and a nice pinot noir?” I answer, “Oh. Um. Huh? Yeah . . . okay, that sounds . . .” and then I trail off, what was I writing? For surely the character’s world is more important than Real Life. Or not. But it doesn’t matter; it is what it is. To his retreating back, which looks slightly slumped inward, I call out, apologetically and excitedly all at once, “Yes! OH! That sounds good! I’d LOOOOOVEE sea scallops and risotto and pinot noir and all that. I Can’t Wait! Thank you! You are Great! Wow!” Overkilling it, but dang, you know?
Sometimes I wander about the house touching things. Is this real? Yes. Is this real? Yes. Is this real? Yes. Is this real? Yes. I touch GMR. Is this real? And he says, “You’re touching me! Wow! ohhhh!” and I roll my eyes and say, “Stop it. I touch and hug you. Geez. You are soooooo (NOT) deprived.” He laughs, but I wonder: when was the last time I went over and gave him a big ole hug. Hmmm. So I do it, right then and there, but it feels forced, so I stand up quickly. Then I touch the top of his head, and then kiss his cheek. He looks so grateful I am guilty and pissed off and confused. Crap.
I’m moody. Although the older I get, the more my moods even out. But I can think dark thoughts. I can be silly for no reason at all. I can be sardonic. I can be negative. I can see things in ways that he says “I never thought of it like that! Hey!” I can tell him, “That person isn’t as they present themselves,” and then later he asks, “How did you know?” I am otherworldly to his practical.
I sometimes stare at GMR when he’s reading the paper or doing a crossword. I’ll stare, my face immobile and expressionless. I wait for it…wait for it…he looks over at me and says, “STOP IT! Stop doingggg thhattt!” Then I burst out laughing. Why do I do that? I dunno.
But for all of that, GMR seems to love me. He seems to be proud of me. When he introduces me to people, he seems to do it with pleasure and love. He seems to really want to be around me—a lot. He seems to think I’m cute, and sometimes maybe beautiful, and always he thinks I’m sexy. He seems to think if something ever happened to me he’d be devastated. He seems to think I am Something Special. He seems to think I am even brilliant. Huhn.
Maybe I have something that keeps GMR content—or at least . . . something. Maybe the weirdness of me keeps him off balance in a way that is exciting or fun or jittery mad mad mad! Maybe it’s rarely boring here in this little log house (except when I’m writing and writing and writing and then . . . well . . . then the house is quiet and the lights are dim and everything is hushed, except for the tip tapping of keys – ).
We pick each other for a reason. Sometimes there are random pickings—maybe. But even then we seek out what we look for. So, what did GMR look for that he found in me? And what does he miss that I am lacking? And what about me? What did I look for? Ah, the mystery of marriage and relationships.
And what about you?
Marriage. Such a strange strange strange land, isn’t it?
Now: an announcement: Head over to GUMBO WRITER– she’s having a contest called The Snark Bite Contest and one of the prizes is a copy of TENDER GRACES! Thank you Angie!