18th
for months i’ve been asking the man formerly known as husband and sweetheart for some physical signs that he means what he says when he says, “i want to work this out.”
when i was a teen i looked forward to FEELING love, having heard so much about it from my glowing friends and an array of molly ringwald’s starring roles during her john hughes film binge. then i felt it. the butterflies, the lump in the throat, the weak knees, the flushed cheeks. it was all new, it was all feeling, it was 1986. (a good year.)
but as i moved through adulthood and its complicated version of “samantha and jake” i realized that the feeling couldn’t sustain love in the ways i’d always thought it could. now feeling needed a partner called action. not so much the ACTION of buying the flowers or writing the card, or making the reservation. but the ACTION of taking a hand, offering a hug, creating a spoon. for me, without these, love was words and ideas and just a little cowardly.
so that man. the one i’m married to. the one who wants to try couple’s counseling. well, his words are withering on a vine of romanceless visits without sex or hand holding or, dare i say, the spoon. (hugs only get you so far, fella.)
we have one of these visits tomorrow. he will drive one hour east to pick up our shared pup. we will take the pup for a walk together. we will hug. he will kiss me once on the lips. he will tell me he loves me. i will believe him. but i will still feel very unsure about what our shared future holds.
i am discouraged, indeed.
these are sad thoughts for an optimist. but as my tumblr mentor once pointed out, the vacuous open space of the blogosphere can be a great place to dump without actually creating any pollution.
