Wednesday, May 27, 2009

You Might Have . . .

. . . noticed the lengthy departure since the last postings, and that even those were becoming random in frequency. You'd imagine that having moved in with The Girlfriend, I'd be chock full of Bill Engvall-like anecdotes about the situated life. Instead, silence.

What it comes down to is that I've lost the need to recount events and their interpretations here. Now, I have someone to tell them to. And instead of a community of silent readers lurking in the shadows of the interweb, I can actually SEE & HEAR The Girlfriend not laughing. Having someone to talk to at the end of the day is I luxury I'd gone without for far too long, and was probably the sole reason I even started this infernal blarg.

You would think that moving in with someone would be a major step into accepting your place in adulthood; a place you tried to avoid with every teenage girlfriend, and insurance policy waived in favor a flat-screen television. It would seem a person moving in with a boyfriend/girlfriend is passing the threshold into a new dawn.

Wrong!

Instead, I've taken several steps back as a responsible adult. Not only am I not maturing, I'm devolving. For example, several weeks ago I didn't want to go to my night class. I didn't want to have to explain to The Girlfriend why I was home so early. So I went several stops past our own, and drank coffee in a strange neighborhood for three hours. You might remember doing this exact same thing . . . in High School! You cut class but couldn't go home 'cause your parents or the neighbors might spot you, so you ended up driving around or hanging out at McDonald's. How old were you? 16? 17? I'm turning 28 in a few days. (if you haven't already, don't forget to RSVP on evite.)

Likewise, I always feared the point I'd move in with someone because I'd have to put an end to the weird shit I would do when home, alone. How would my id find it's release if someone were always a few feet away. Turns out, nothing changed. I still break out into song for no reason, often changing the lyrics to popular contemporary songs with lyrics describing what I happen to be doing at that moment. "Take Me Home Tonight" becomes, "Makin' a sandwich right," followed by, "I hope that the mustard and the mayo aren't lite." I'll look over and see The Girlfriend staring at me with the coldest of faces. Each song is a realization that not only does she live with a bull in a china shop - but later, this oaf of a bull will be asking about sex.

Oh, and The Cat is still around . . . for now.

3 comments:

rachelok said...

yeah, the special kind of loneliness, or aloneness, at least, that you have when living alone, disappears. i seem to never write when immersed in a relationship, you feel like you're retelling stories and just don't have as much time to.

but i still miss hearing yours.

and the lyric changing is great. one of my favorite parts about my ex ex. that's not a cold look, it's a blank stare of adoration.

me... said...

Just for fun, why not have a baby and then see how much you don't have to say. You will have an entirely different repertoire of songs to butcher.

I get it, though. Writing feels so contrived these days. Still, I was counting on you to be my buffoon and, since I don't recall releasing you from that obligation, I will ask you to please dance, little monkey...dance.

me... said...

And Bob Rivers took the Changing the Lyrics belt when he turned Bob Seger's Night Moves into Bowel Moves. Unparalleled genius.