Andrew and Holly
Oct. 7th, 2005 10:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cosmolinguistAndrew's having a rough time, a terrible day and no real end in sight.
He e-mails me and I IM him and he calls me, sighing and saying "It's late but I just needed to hear your voice." I mumble noncommital answers ("I love you so much." "Enh. Mm. Yeah.") to avoid saying anything worth overhearing because I've just sat down with my parents at Perkins.
I talk to him until the waitress shows up to ask what we want to drink, but even as I do it I'm worried that when I hang up I'll just go cheerily about my way because that sounds like the sort of thing I'd do.
The amount of money he needs in the near future is ridiculous—his voice sounds strained like he's being crushed under the weight of big lump sums—and I'm under that weight too but I fear that I'll just scuttle away from the big adult stresses, because a bit of me is so busy being glad to be here: here I have a big soft bed with sheets that match the bedspread, here my mom asks what I want to add to our grocery cart.
I hate this. Being dependent on my parents is actually far from paradise, and I know it makes Andrew feel bad to have even the slightest hint that he's incapable of giving me a nice life with him, of taking care of me. Still, that tiny bit of me is there; hating it might make me ignore it but ignoring it won't make it go away, so I may as well own up to it.
I worry that the distance and being under my parents' wings will make me feel even a little bit cold or uncaring towards him and his problems, because if I feel that way I will sound that way, and sounding cold or uncaring is the last thing I want. They're not really his problems, they're our problems.
On the way home, after the excruciatingly boring grocery shopping, I sat in the digustingly huge SUV with my mom listening to the horrible twangy country music, and I swear no one was happier. I couldn't explain my good mood, but I also knew I couldn't shake it either. I had all kinds of reasons to be down but I wasn't.
It's the same thing I felt last week, when I (absurdly, I know) felt almost guilty for not crying, for not being miserable and incapable of normal activity or behavior.
I am four thousand miles from my Andrew, and last time I tried this I was miserable; I felt every one of those miles and hated each of them individually. But now, I dunno, I'm just not impressed by them any more. They're kind of a bummer—it'd certainly be nicer to be sharing my bed every night than going it alone—but they have no real power over me.
I became aware that the radio was playing a ridiculous song, the chorus of which seemed to go, "Timber, I've fallen in love!" Which got me thinking about how we say we've "fallen in love." Sounds silly to me; maybe that is how it feels for some people (and maybe that did happen to me, once), but it wasn't like that for me this time. I strolled into love.
I've poked at love and nudged it around until it was comfortable for me and now I've made a nest here. It's warm and cozy and I know it's not the whole world but it's a nice place to curl up and look out on the world. Of course I'm happy.
He e-mails me and I IM him and he calls me, sighing and saying "It's late but I just needed to hear your voice." I mumble noncommital answers ("I love you so much." "Enh. Mm. Yeah.") to avoid saying anything worth overhearing because I've just sat down with my parents at Perkins.
I talk to him until the waitress shows up to ask what we want to drink, but even as I do it I'm worried that when I hang up I'll just go cheerily about my way because that sounds like the sort of thing I'd do.
The amount of money he needs in the near future is ridiculous—his voice sounds strained like he's being crushed under the weight of big lump sums—and I'm under that weight too but I fear that I'll just scuttle away from the big adult stresses, because a bit of me is so busy being glad to be here: here I have a big soft bed with sheets that match the bedspread, here my mom asks what I want to add to our grocery cart.
I hate this. Being dependent on my parents is actually far from paradise, and I know it makes Andrew feel bad to have even the slightest hint that he's incapable of giving me a nice life with him, of taking care of me. Still, that tiny bit of me is there; hating it might make me ignore it but ignoring it won't make it go away, so I may as well own up to it.
I worry that the distance and being under my parents' wings will make me feel even a little bit cold or uncaring towards him and his problems, because if I feel that way I will sound that way, and sounding cold or uncaring is the last thing I want. They're not really his problems, they're our problems.
On the way home, after the excruciatingly boring grocery shopping, I sat in the digustingly huge SUV with my mom listening to the horrible twangy country music, and I swear no one was happier. I couldn't explain my good mood, but I also knew I couldn't shake it either. I had all kinds of reasons to be down but I wasn't.
It's the same thing I felt last week, when I (absurdly, I know) felt almost guilty for not crying, for not being miserable and incapable of normal activity or behavior.
I am four thousand miles from my Andrew, and last time I tried this I was miserable; I felt every one of those miles and hated each of them individually. But now, I dunno, I'm just not impressed by them any more. They're kind of a bummer—it'd certainly be nicer to be sharing my bed every night than going it alone—but they have no real power over me.
I became aware that the radio was playing a ridiculous song, the chorus of which seemed to go, "Timber, I've fallen in love!" Which got me thinking about how we say we've "fallen in love." Sounds silly to me; maybe that is how it feels for some people (and maybe that did happen to me, once), but it wasn't like that for me this time. I strolled into love.
I've poked at love and nudged it around until it was comfortable for me and now I've made a nest here. It's warm and cozy and I know it's not the whole world but it's a nice place to curl up and look out on the world. Of course I'm happy.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2005-10-08 05:30 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-10-08 05:37 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-10-08 07:23 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-10-08 01:11 pm (UTC)memo from the State Department of the 5% Nation of Riddley_Walker
Date: 2005-10-08 08:57 am (UTC)i never liked falling much myself.
for me when it's right it kinda is like strolling, or like making a concious decision to walk a little off yr habitual daily path and start exploring a new part of the city. if you like what you find you come back the next day and explore a little more, and so on.
i really do sometimes think of other people as being places.
i realized that the other day.
LJ adds to that feeling.
The 5% Nation of Holly_Lama.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-10-08 01:15 pm (UTC)I love the notion of people as places, too.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-10-08 08:40 pm (UTC)i usually stop myself and put it in reverse cuz i don't trust folks like that.
sad but true.
although i'm all about the slow ambling walk deep into the heart of love country. i trust folks then.
i think i maybe fell once. it sucked.
i now pretty much demand open communication about stuff from the get-go, which some people find unromantic, or whatever.
i don't mean "talking about The Relationshp", but just talking. you'd be amazed how many folks out there can't ask simply and directly for what they want.
i blame crap parenting/schooling practices for that.
i dunno, i think spitting truth is way more lovely than spitting game.
tell me what you really want and if i want it too it's on, if i don't, we are both better off cutting it short and not wasting time.
you know what i mean?
(no subject)
Date: 2005-10-08 02:35 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-10-08 03:46 pm (UTC)