Just by switching the verb tense, a sweet sensory delight of a Christmas carol can be turned into a reflection of gossip. At best, it's a reflection of reputation. Separating out talking about someone as part of their reputation as opposed to gossip can be a little tricky and often needs clearly-defined morals and circumstances, both of which can be difficult to ascertain in and of themselves. Still, our reputations are important to us. What people think of us on and off the grapevine really matters. Their judgments of our actions can tip the balance over future opportunities and relationships. This is where real life gets a little hinky, because if you haven't figured out how true this little cliche is yet, you are about to: appearances can be deceiving.
***Reader warning--subject matter to follow may not be appropriate for all readers***
For instance, there was a night I went over to Bob's house to watch a movie. Bob and I have both agreed that we will not have sex until our wedding night, an expected but not-often followed idea in our society. We want to follow God's will for sexual relationships. My reputation is also included in this--many people know I am still a virgin, and I want to have that reputation intact on my wedding day. While we are physically affectionate, even to an extent in public, there are very clear lines drawn that the two of us do not cross.
So on this movie night, I plop down on his living room floor (more comfy than the two-seater couch by a long shot) and curl up under a blanket with a pillow to watch the film. He joins me, keeping some distance but still cuddling around my blanket cocoon. It's been a long week for both of us--his job is extremely physically taxing while my three jobs wear me out mentally and emotionally. We're well-fed, warm, and tired. Guess what happens? That's right--we fall asleep. I wake up disoriented, still wrapped securely in my blankets just a few inches away from Bob. I look at the clock. It's after midnight. As it takes about 45 minutes for me to get home, this is a VERY late date for me and we both have work in the morning. I stumble around, waking him with a quick kiss goodbye before grabbing my things and walking out into the brisk night air. As I slowly descend the porch steps, I see the neighbors across the street noticing my presence. My face burns with heat. I know what this must look like. A brief glimpse in the bathroom mirror had showed my rumpled clothes, smeared make-up, and destroyed hairdo. I look like the poster child for the Walk of Shame calendar.
Did Bob and I do anything wrong? In my mind, no. We didn't mean to fall asleep together. We definitely didn't fool around. My appearance, combined with the late hour, gave an impression that probably tarnished, if not ruined, my reputation with that neighbor (and whomever they tell). The question is, then, whose responsibility is it if others start hearing--and believing--that I'm not as chaste as I say I am?
Personally, I believe it's 50/50, even though in reality that's hardly the case. While I do have the responsibility to set an alarm on my phone, tend to my appearance before I leave Bob's house, and try to make sure we don't end up in situations (such as cuddling platonically on the floor) that could be potentially damaging to our reputations, I think the neighbors also have the responsibility to check out the situation before spreading the word. We have all lived through experiences where we made assumptions about people that ended up being dramatically--and sometimes painfully--wrong.
In our society, though, we do make assumptions about people every day--and those who see me from afar should get the same kind of image (though not as sharp--my closest friends will see pieces of my personality that strangers wouldn't) as those I am close to. My leaving Bob's house in such a disheveled state at a very late hour was the mistake. I need to be more responsible about leaving at an appropriate time, or picking different locations for our "together time," such as public places in town or watching movies at his mother's house. ((Granted, I know there are couples who do a lot in a parent's home, but I'm personally weirded out by even peck kisses in front of Bob's mom. I'm a little more affectionate in my parent's home, but still...there are extreme limits to what I will do in those places out of respect for my parents and my heebie-jeebies.))
After all, it's not just my reputation that's at stake here, but also my witness. That's really not something to mess around with.
Tuesday, October 30, 2018
Saturday, June 11, 2011
I do
Silken petals spilling over my hand
Jewel-encrusted metal peeking out beneath
With a deep breath for strength
I take one step forward
Into a new life
With you.
The drama of
Planning, anticipating, accommodating
The weariness of
Writing checks and checking lists
The nervousness of
A young bride and her devoted groom
Is all put to rest
In one moment.
I do.
I do promise to love you,
Even when
Your shirts are left on the kitchen floor
The open peanut butter jar has a fly in it
The horror movie you love gave me nightmares
The checkbook is nearly empty
And all of the chocolate is gone.
I do promise to show my love for you,
Even when
My fibro flares and I don't want to be touched
I bring my work troubles home with me
I don't feel like it
My emotions are out of control
And all of the chocolate is gone.
I do swear I won't leave you
Even when
The roof springs a leak
The toilet backs up
The cars are both out of gas
My overactive fears urge me to run away
And all of the chocolate is gone.
I do promise to forgive you
Even when
You forget to say "excuse me"
The bathroom is a mess
I'm the only one eating leftovers
You forget I don't like mushrooms
And all of the chocolate is gone.
I do promise to ask for your forgiveness
Even when
I ask too much of you, really
I forget your promises
Dinner is burned/undercooked/cold (because I can cook if it's not for you)
I impulsively buy things I shouldn't
And I blame you for all the chocolate being gone.
And when we face trials
Our pasts come to haunt us
Wintery depression settles in
Health fades into pain
Loved ones pass away
Jobs end and new ones escape us
Friends betray or just forget to care
Our children, or lack of them, ravage our hearts
We forget, for a moment, how to love each other
AND ALL OF THE CHOCOLATE IS GONE...
I will still love you
I will still need you
I will still be here for you
I will still give myself to you
I will still belong to you
I promise you this.
I do.
Jewel-encrusted metal peeking out beneath
With a deep breath for strength
I take one step forward
Into a new life
With you.
The drama of
Planning, anticipating, accommodating
The weariness of
Writing checks and checking lists
The nervousness of
A young bride and her devoted groom
Is all put to rest
In one moment.
I do.
I do promise to love you,
Even when
Your shirts are left on the kitchen floor
The open peanut butter jar has a fly in it
The horror movie you love gave me nightmares
The checkbook is nearly empty
And all of the chocolate is gone.
I do promise to show my love for you,
Even when
My fibro flares and I don't want to be touched
I bring my work troubles home with me
I don't feel like it
My emotions are out of control
And all of the chocolate is gone.
I do swear I won't leave you
Even when
The roof springs a leak
The toilet backs up
The cars are both out of gas
My overactive fears urge me to run away
And all of the chocolate is gone.
I do promise to forgive you
Even when
You forget to say "excuse me"
The bathroom is a mess
I'm the only one eating leftovers
You forget I don't like mushrooms
And all of the chocolate is gone.
I do promise to ask for your forgiveness
Even when
I ask too much of you, really
I forget your promises
Dinner is burned/undercooked/cold (because I can cook if it's not for you)
I impulsively buy things I shouldn't
And I blame you for all the chocolate being gone.
And when we face trials
Our pasts come to haunt us
Wintery depression settles in
Health fades into pain
Loved ones pass away
Jobs end and new ones escape us
Friends betray or just forget to care
Our children, or lack of them, ravage our hearts
We forget, for a moment, how to love each other
AND ALL OF THE CHOCOLATE IS GONE...
I will still love you
I will still need you
I will still be here for you
I will still give myself to you
I will still belong to you
I promise you this.
I do.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Priorities
I should be grading ceremonial speeches right now so I can hand them back to my students. I should be not eating Tollhouse milk chocolate chips out of a Jiff reduced fat peanut butter jar so I can fit into my wedding dress at my fitting Friday. I should be saving my money instead of investing in some special-request items my fiancee mentioned wanting. I should be...I should not be... Ugh. Conditional modals really stink.
For the greater part of the last nine months, my world has revolved around my jobs, family, and a blossoming relationship with the man of my dreams. I've been working long hours, losing and desperately seeking jobs, planning a wedding, helping my church,...and letting other things slide. While it's probably understandable, and even acceptable, to adjust priorities in the rush of life, I've felt like a piece of me has been missing for a long time--actually, make that a few pieces.
Last year I was on fire. On fire for God as I gained the courage to join a new church for the first time in five years. On fire for female bonding as I found a fantastic group of ladies in a Bible study who, time and time again, have loved on me, listened to me, encouraged me, prayed for me, and put up with my insanity. :) On fire for writing as I finished a novel, went to a national conference, and even had several publishers and an agent give me the nod to submit. It's this last one that's killing me--I let those opportunities slide.
Granted, there were valid reasons why I put off the novel submission. I had realized several stylistic and thematic holes that needed fixing. I knew, as an unpublished author, I needed a fantastic draft to really help me get into the publishing world. So I decided to take the 6-8 weeks offered and work on my book. Problem was, I was working three jobs (teaching 3 classes at one college, 2 at another, and also working part-time in financial aid) and dating a man who consumed nearly every thought I had. It became easier to fall under the stress of the workload and the bumps of a new relationship with every day...and my novel began gathering dust.
Then I decided to break myself out of my months-long dry spell and submit the novel's first few chapters to a national competition. I felt so confident as I sent off my newly-revised baby off to the judges--the style was new and fresh, every mistake had been corrected, and I had managed to weave in more details to really attract a reader. A month later I was emailed back and told, nicely, that the judges didn't really care for my work. Most of them missed the point of my unusual opener and misunderstood what I was trying to do. Some nitpicked (understandably) at details that, to them, were unrealistic when they were actually autobiographical and completely valid and true (I guess truth is too strange to be fiction some days). Feeling as though I had failed, I again shelved the book. I told people I would just work on a more "standard-format" novel in the meantime, that I hadn't given up. Truth is, I gave up a long time ago. When you're facing multiple jobs, financial stress, a looming wedding where I can't seem to make anyone happy, relationship maintenance, and the thousands of changes that occur when you promise to completely change your life...writing just seemed to be a waste of time.
I suppose what hurts the most is that while I miss writing and the passion I had for a creation that was mine and God's alone, I don't really want to do it anymore. Keeping up with blogs, the research...all those things I loved to do just pale in comparison to setting up house and trying to make my future marriage as strong as it can be. Maybe my priorities have shifted. Maybe my passion for writing was a misguided obsession. Maybe I should just not even mourn the loss of a not-really-there skill and just move on with my life. There are more important things than a woman sitting alone at a computer, trying to breathe life into a flat character. Like cleaning the mouse poop out of my kitchen drawers. Like encouraging my fiancee to be creative and explore his passions for the first time in his life. Like making sure I can help put bread on the table and heat in the house. Like finally putting myself in the precarious position as a witness for Christ and daring to reach others.
Right?
For the greater part of the last nine months, my world has revolved around my jobs, family, and a blossoming relationship with the man of my dreams. I've been working long hours, losing and desperately seeking jobs, planning a wedding, helping my church,...and letting other things slide. While it's probably understandable, and even acceptable, to adjust priorities in the rush of life, I've felt like a piece of me has been missing for a long time--actually, make that a few pieces.
Last year I was on fire. On fire for God as I gained the courage to join a new church for the first time in five years. On fire for female bonding as I found a fantastic group of ladies in a Bible study who, time and time again, have loved on me, listened to me, encouraged me, prayed for me, and put up with my insanity. :) On fire for writing as I finished a novel, went to a national conference, and even had several publishers and an agent give me the nod to submit. It's this last one that's killing me--I let those opportunities slide.
Granted, there were valid reasons why I put off the novel submission. I had realized several stylistic and thematic holes that needed fixing. I knew, as an unpublished author, I needed a fantastic draft to really help me get into the publishing world. So I decided to take the 6-8 weeks offered and work on my book. Problem was, I was working three jobs (teaching 3 classes at one college, 2 at another, and also working part-time in financial aid) and dating a man who consumed nearly every thought I had. It became easier to fall under the stress of the workload and the bumps of a new relationship with every day...and my novel began gathering dust.
Then I decided to break myself out of my months-long dry spell and submit the novel's first few chapters to a national competition. I felt so confident as I sent off my newly-revised baby off to the judges--the style was new and fresh, every mistake had been corrected, and I had managed to weave in more details to really attract a reader. A month later I was emailed back and told, nicely, that the judges didn't really care for my work. Most of them missed the point of my unusual opener and misunderstood what I was trying to do. Some nitpicked (understandably) at details that, to them, were unrealistic when they were actually autobiographical and completely valid and true (I guess truth is too strange to be fiction some days). Feeling as though I had failed, I again shelved the book. I told people I would just work on a more "standard-format" novel in the meantime, that I hadn't given up. Truth is, I gave up a long time ago. When you're facing multiple jobs, financial stress, a looming wedding where I can't seem to make anyone happy, relationship maintenance, and the thousands of changes that occur when you promise to completely change your life...writing just seemed to be a waste of time.
I suppose what hurts the most is that while I miss writing and the passion I had for a creation that was mine and God's alone, I don't really want to do it anymore. Keeping up with blogs, the research...all those things I loved to do just pale in comparison to setting up house and trying to make my future marriage as strong as it can be. Maybe my priorities have shifted. Maybe my passion for writing was a misguided obsession. Maybe I should just not even mourn the loss of a not-really-there skill and just move on with my life. There are more important things than a woman sitting alone at a computer, trying to breathe life into a flat character. Like cleaning the mouse poop out of my kitchen drawers. Like encouraging my fiancee to be creative and explore his passions for the first time in his life. Like making sure I can help put bread on the table and heat in the house. Like finally putting myself in the precarious position as a witness for Christ and daring to reach others.
Right?
Monday, March 7, 2011
A Stronger "Thank You."
Every day I go swimming
Pools of salt water that start a deep jade
You point out the flecks of brown and blue
Then the pools shimmer, spill over
Into translucent drops
Picking up smeared colors
As they drain.
Yet like the bottomless pit
The pools never stop refilling
For each day we dive in again
And watch ourselves drown
"It wasn't like this before"
You say.
"I don't understand why."
I say.
"It'll get better in time."
We say.
But it hasn't yet.
There are many reasons why the pools can't
Just stay intact, whole, sparked instead of soaked
We can come up with so many
Like life in general;
Like pressures of techtonic plates
Shifting us into new worlds, new lives,
Letting the magma beneath rumble to the surface;
Like something mysteriously gender-specific;
Like the weather.
The one credit of nearly drowning every day
Is that you appreciate what moments of life surround death;
You holding my hand
You trying to absorb the pain
You daring to change my direction
You encouraging, reassuring, giving me courage to fight
You attempting, daily, to save me.
You never running away to save yourself.
The English language needs a stronger sentiment than
"Thank you."
Pools of salt water that start a deep jade
You point out the flecks of brown and blue
Then the pools shimmer, spill over
Into translucent drops
Picking up smeared colors
As they drain.
Yet like the bottomless pit
The pools never stop refilling
For each day we dive in again
And watch ourselves drown
"It wasn't like this before"
You say.
"I don't understand why."
I say.
"It'll get better in time."
We say.
But it hasn't yet.
There are many reasons why the pools can't
Just stay intact, whole, sparked instead of soaked
We can come up with so many
Like life in general;
Like pressures of techtonic plates
Shifting us into new worlds, new lives,
Letting the magma beneath rumble to the surface;
Like something mysteriously gender-specific;
Like the weather.
The one credit of nearly drowning every day
Is that you appreciate what moments of life surround death;
You holding my hand
You trying to absorb the pain
You daring to change my direction
You encouraging, reassuring, giving me courage to fight
You attempting, daily, to save me.
You never running away to save yourself.
The English language needs a stronger sentiment than
"Thank you."
Monday, January 3, 2011
Whispers in the Moonlight
Opals spill from Heaven in wavery lines
The reflection of the Sun reflects on your cheeks
Sparkles of silver, blue, green, and possibly purple underline
The dimples you declare don't exist
The soft lines declaring your sense of humor
The sweet lips that curve in warm greeting
And I melt
If this was an oceanside beach I'd hear the tumbling of white-foam waves
Opals scattered among broken shells and starfish searching for their mates
If this was a forest I'd hear treefrogs singing sweet soprano notes
As they declare the warm night perfect for yet another sonata
If this was a balcony on a tall city skyscraper I'd hear the calls of so many
Cars as they say hello, goodbye, and I hope to never see you again.
But this is just a simple lake, a simple country, a simple September date
A simple girl, a simple guy, and a simple thought in each head
So as your hair shines a deep ruby in the moonlight
And your face glows in the coolness of a sweet summer night
I will remember this night I began to fall in love with you
And melt.
The reflection of the Sun reflects on your cheeks
Sparkles of silver, blue, green, and possibly purple underline
The dimples you declare don't exist
The soft lines declaring your sense of humor
The sweet lips that curve in warm greeting
And I melt
If this was an oceanside beach I'd hear the tumbling of white-foam waves
Opals scattered among broken shells and starfish searching for their mates
If this was a forest I'd hear treefrogs singing sweet soprano notes
As they declare the warm night perfect for yet another sonata
If this was a balcony on a tall city skyscraper I'd hear the calls of so many
Cars as they say hello, goodbye, and I hope to never see you again.
But this is just a simple lake, a simple country, a simple September date
A simple girl, a simple guy, and a simple thought in each head
So as your hair shines a deep ruby in the moonlight
And your face glows in the coolness of a sweet summer night
I will remember this night I began to fall in love with you
And melt.
Friday, December 24, 2010
A Proposal to Remember...
It's been a bit of a joke that my fiancee and I have been doing things a little backwards. We were never officially engaged and yet set a wedding date, put a deposit on the photographer, and bought wedding rings. He mentioned long ago that he was planning on proposing on Christmas Eve, and although I knew it was coming, it still seemed like a distant dream, something that could be taken away. Yes, we were getting married...weren't we? We were in love...and we were sure we would make it, right?
The days before Christmas counted down slowly and my anticipation grew higher. He was planning on staying with my family for a few days during a snowstorm over the holidays, and I didn't see him grab the ring from its hiding place. I fell into the temptation and asked if he forgot something...and immediately hated myself for it. I mean, where is all the romance if I have to prompt it? I decided from then on, no matter what, I'd let him forget or remember, whatever would be would be, and I could just cry myself to sleep later.
So Christmas Eve stretches on. We're practically stranded in my parents' home, and he doesn't seem to be doing much besides playing computer games and watching tv. There's no sign of any romantic plan being hatched. No candles, no whispered plans with my parents, nothing. I've pretty much just given up on this whole thing and am keeping my disappointment to myself. So what if this is a moment I will only have once in my life, a moment that should have been planned and executed with all the romantic flair I dreamed about for over two decades?
I'm in the kitchen trying to find something to fix his attack of the munchies. He spots a bag of TGI Friday's Cheddar and Bacon Tato Skins over my shoulder and votes for those. I like them, too, so I grab an extra bag, cut it open, and join him on the couch. After a few minutes, the remnants of his bag are demolished and he nudges me.
"Tamara, will you share your chips with me?"
"Yeah." I hand over the bag.
"Tamara? Will you share something else with me?"
I raise my head, prepared to scoot over and grab my water bottle for him. As I look up, he pulls a familiar white leather box out of his pocket.
"Will you share your life with me?"
It's sweet, completely unlike how I had ever pictured it, and built around a bit of a pun (and kind of corny, too). I start crying.
"I love you, Tamara, with all my heart, and soul, and mind...hey, that's a song!"
Tears start rolling down my cheeks. He's distracted by a musical reference in the middle of his proposal. It's so like him. And I love him. More than I could ever imagine loving a man who thrills me, drives me crazy, and is completely devoted to me in all the ways that count.
Jerry reaches for my promise ring and begins tugging at it to replace it with my stunning diamond engagement ring. He tugs while murmuring how much he loves me, then looks at my hand with furrowed brows.
"Um, this isn't coming off."
I giggle a little and pull off my ring with an expert twist. He replaces it with my diamond and we seal my enthusiastic "Yes!" with a kiss.
Sometimes it's the person, not the plans, that makes it all worthwhile. It wasn't a fairy tale with him on one knee and me holding a dozen roses, but real life is about working with what you have--in this case, a quirky sense of humor and a $1 bag of potato chips from Dollar General. This proposal was unique, not cookie-cutter romance. Romance fades after a while--love, real love, the kind worth marrying over...it lasts forever.
Now, if you will excuse me, I'm going to drag my fiancee's laptop out of his lap and really give him a good kiss for this very special, very lovely Christmas Eve night.
The days before Christmas counted down slowly and my anticipation grew higher. He was planning on staying with my family for a few days during a snowstorm over the holidays, and I didn't see him grab the ring from its hiding place. I fell into the temptation and asked if he forgot something...and immediately hated myself for it. I mean, where is all the romance if I have to prompt it? I decided from then on, no matter what, I'd let him forget or remember, whatever would be would be, and I could just cry myself to sleep later.
So Christmas Eve stretches on. We're practically stranded in my parents' home, and he doesn't seem to be doing much besides playing computer games and watching tv. There's no sign of any romantic plan being hatched. No candles, no whispered plans with my parents, nothing. I've pretty much just given up on this whole thing and am keeping my disappointment to myself. So what if this is a moment I will only have once in my life, a moment that should have been planned and executed with all the romantic flair I dreamed about for over two decades?
I'm in the kitchen trying to find something to fix his attack of the munchies. He spots a bag of TGI Friday's Cheddar and Bacon Tato Skins over my shoulder and votes for those. I like them, too, so I grab an extra bag, cut it open, and join him on the couch. After a few minutes, the remnants of his bag are demolished and he nudges me.
"Tamara, will you share your chips with me?"
"Yeah." I hand over the bag.
"Tamara? Will you share something else with me?"
I raise my head, prepared to scoot over and grab my water bottle for him. As I look up, he pulls a familiar white leather box out of his pocket.
"Will you share your life with me?"
It's sweet, completely unlike how I had ever pictured it, and built around a bit of a pun (and kind of corny, too). I start crying.
"I love you, Tamara, with all my heart, and soul, and mind...hey, that's a song!"
Tears start rolling down my cheeks. He's distracted by a musical reference in the middle of his proposal. It's so like him. And I love him. More than I could ever imagine loving a man who thrills me, drives me crazy, and is completely devoted to me in all the ways that count.
Jerry reaches for my promise ring and begins tugging at it to replace it with my stunning diamond engagement ring. He tugs while murmuring how much he loves me, then looks at my hand with furrowed brows.
"Um, this isn't coming off."
I giggle a little and pull off my ring with an expert twist. He replaces it with my diamond and we seal my enthusiastic "Yes!" with a kiss.
Sometimes it's the person, not the plans, that makes it all worthwhile. It wasn't a fairy tale with him on one knee and me holding a dozen roses, but real life is about working with what you have--in this case, a quirky sense of humor and a $1 bag of potato chips from Dollar General. This proposal was unique, not cookie-cutter romance. Romance fades after a while--love, real love, the kind worth marrying over...it lasts forever.
Now, if you will excuse me, I'm going to drag my fiancee's laptop out of his lap and really give him a good kiss for this very special, very lovely Christmas Eve night.
Monday, December 13, 2010
A Disturbance in the Force
I'm finding it incredibly interesting to watch the development of my relationship with my boyfriend. It's a lot more than just an accumulation of facts, observances of behavioral patterns, and a sky-rocketing cell phone bill (oh, thank the Lord for free mobile-to-mobile minutes when you have the same carrier). As we spend more time together, apparently we are getting better at "reading" each other--or as my good friend Amy would say, "discerning a disturbance in the force."
I've been able instinctively understand others at times, usually people I'm really close to, but always with a varying degree of accuracy. I was certain several times that my mother was upset about something, but she was really just tired (that's a hard distinction to make). I'm pretty good at hiding my emotions when I really want to, so it's not too surprising when others miss out on my changing moods. As we get closer, though, my boyfriend is getting uncanny results on reading me.
Last night I was really frustrated with a breakdown in communication with people, and while some of my signals were pretty obvious (being silent and refusing to look at people are pretty big signs that something's seriously wrong--in this case, I was desperatly trying to control both my temper and my tongue), he had sensed my anxiety level rising long before I resorted to physical signs of distress. It wasn't so much reading me but, without even looking at me, knowing that something had changed. A sixth sense. A ripple in an emotional pond where we are both swimming.
I've heard of twins being able to communicate like this, a deep bond keeping them in touch despite miles or even continents separating them. I never thought I would have anything even remotely like that with a boyfriend--after all, we're from different planets and neither gender can make sense of the other, right?
Maybe the magic ingredient that ties two people together so much isn't necessarily a "love connection" or an awareness of Star Wars terms. Maybe it's the Holy Spirit whispering another's needs in our ear--and since we have such a strong emotional bond with that person, we're more receptive/understanding/attentive to the pull at our hearts and minds.
I haven't figured this out yet, but while I'm working on this new puzzling aspect of being part of a couple, I'll enjoy the attention and comfort of knowing he gets me...at least a little, for now. :)
I've been able instinctively understand others at times, usually people I'm really close to, but always with a varying degree of accuracy. I was certain several times that my mother was upset about something, but she was really just tired (that's a hard distinction to make). I'm pretty good at hiding my emotions when I really want to, so it's not too surprising when others miss out on my changing moods. As we get closer, though, my boyfriend is getting uncanny results on reading me.
Last night I was really frustrated with a breakdown in communication with people, and while some of my signals were pretty obvious (being silent and refusing to look at people are pretty big signs that something's seriously wrong--in this case, I was desperatly trying to control both my temper and my tongue), he had sensed my anxiety level rising long before I resorted to physical signs of distress. It wasn't so much reading me but, without even looking at me, knowing that something had changed. A sixth sense. A ripple in an emotional pond where we are both swimming.
I've heard of twins being able to communicate like this, a deep bond keeping them in touch despite miles or even continents separating them. I never thought I would have anything even remotely like that with a boyfriend--after all, we're from different planets and neither gender can make sense of the other, right?
Maybe the magic ingredient that ties two people together so much isn't necessarily a "love connection" or an awareness of Star Wars terms. Maybe it's the Holy Spirit whispering another's needs in our ear--and since we have such a strong emotional bond with that person, we're more receptive/understanding/attentive to the pull at our hearts and minds.
I haven't figured this out yet, but while I'm working on this new puzzling aspect of being part of a couple, I'll enjoy the attention and comfort of knowing he gets me...at least a little, for now. :)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)