It's been a hard few days for us, and then the rain came this morning and it was difficult to get out of bed and drive to work. I fueled myself on long-steeped tea, reasoning in that not very coherent, early morning way that if Edith Wharton's characters can get a buzz from English Breakfast, so can I. (Not true. A cup of coffee and another cup of tea later, I felt somewhat conscious. Also, why is caffeine the only thing I remember from House of Mirth?) I pulled on my Oregon Girls Rock t-shirt that I save for cheerless days and my favorite ripped jeans. I packed an especially delicious and unusual sandwich. I slipped a Neko Case CD into my purse.
I was ready to be gloomy like the baddest most emo hipster poser you know.
And then I went upstairs to kiss T goodbye.
I think I married T because I had no other choice. And before you get huffy, let me explain. I met him and electrical currents zinged and I felt peace descend. My brain shut down completely except for one reverberant thought, thrumming through my limbs, that let me know, in these absolute almost godly tones, that this someone was for me. Of course, I didn't know that we would fall in love and get married and become the proud co-owners of an orange velvet couch (seriously Tom, I like the couch), but somehow I knew that future was possible.
I tried to delude myself for a little while, imagining T as a wild fling before I moved to New York for school, but it's hard to resist a 6' 3" dark-haired, blue-eyed prankster who dances to embarrassing love songs he makes up about me, and makes the best hash browns, and attracts the adoration of animals and babies everywhere, because he's really that kind. True, he also likes to pants me while I'm washing the dishes, and he's filled my Netflix queue with manga and monster movies, but I'd watch a month's worth of manga for one of T's hugs, because I feel like I'm disappearing into comfort. Six months into knowing Tom and I was hooked. More than seven years and life without him is like a Caesar salad without the anchovies in the dressing. (In other words, improbable. Inedible. Completely and utterly beyond the order of things.)
Tomorrow we will be married two years, and it's been awesome. Not easy, not all the time, but maybe better for that. I know I'm braver and kinder and just possibly, minimally less stressed because I get to kiss him goodbye each morning, and hello every night. And because he's a chiropractor and will give a back rub in exchange for a back scratch. I've never been in better alignment.
Take that how you will.
Happy anniversary, my sweet man. I love you.
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