It’s 11:14 pm, on a Saturday night.
I’m wrapped in a fuzzy pink robe. I have two lovely candles lit and I’m tucked under a yellow floral quilt. I am doing exactly what I want to do. I am being nice to myself. I have a perfectly ripe pear, a mild brie cheese, and some not-so-mild jalapeno Cheetos. I have a mindless show on the television, and I’ve just put down my crochet.
I’ve been working on this psychadelic, very large, stripedy afghan for more than a year. It should have been done by now, but, well, I get bored. It’s a gift for SMF, for the bed in his converted van that he uses when he goes fishing and camping. I have a great metaphor working in my brain for this damn afghan, and it has something to do with relationships and learning from our mistakes and commitment and a whole bunch of other things but it just isn’t coming together.
Last night I went to the movies with Special Man, after a slightly disappointing dinner at a new-to-us Cuban restaurant. We saw “Her”, which was mostly very good, and only slightly boring for about twenty minutes, two-thirds of the way through. This is a big deal, because I have a hard time sitting through movies in general. This movie gave me so many ideas and concepts to keep my brain busy, that I was very happily entertained. I do recommend it, it’s a little long, but it makes some great statements about life and love, humanity and emotion, social constructs, and technology. (There’s a lot of time spent with Joaquin Phoenix looking pensive. And I mean a lot. Try to look past that.)
After the movie, we parked at the local IHOP and we talked. I didn’t want to talk. I don’t think he really did either. But we did it. And there were some hard things said, and some difficult things heard. I’ve come to some of my own conclusions in the last two weeks, and mostly what I’m realizing is that poly is fucking hard.
But I’m still here. And so is he.