Our love story is something else. Crazy doesn't scratch the surface but... it's real. And, strong. And well... actually, one of our last arguments was about glue, so, funny I should mention it.

I met him in a public place for tea after just a few lines of Instant Message exchanged on a dating website. Probably not my smartest move in this lifetime, but, darnit if he wasn't right about this as well. Sigh.

To rewind just a little, I was reeling from a smack-in-the-face dumping by a guy I had been seeing for a month or so. I had sunk into the lethargy of total denial and was beginning to insulate myself against all outside contact except for the pizza guy and the gas station clerk who sold me cigarettes. Everything I should have been controlling slipped into a horribly neglected state. So, as far as dating and such, I thought it was time to if not "get back on the horse," at least to see if my boots still fit. I never expected it to lead to anything. The guy seemed kind of off-putting online, but, a cup of tea couldn't harm anyone, could it? I needed the practice, to shake the cobwebs off.

Well, as I was just getting used to my boots, this guy had already gone and entered me in the goddamn Kentucky Derby. And he bet the bank on me. So, I better do a good job. Giddyup, girl.

After tea, he insisted on driving me home. Well, actually, he insisted on taking me to his home -- but I won that small battle initially on account of he could be a serial killer. So, he says he's coming up. I insisted not, because : a) still could be that serial killer, and b) ack! my apartment is a living museum of my laziness and shame! As he followed me in, and weaseled his way through the door, I figured my minutes were numbered -- this psycho HAD to be a murderer. I regretted not calling my family more often. My life flashed before me. He ended up not killing me that night, thank goodness. Crisis averted.

Why I accepted the invitation to a second date with this potential madman is unfathomable. I couldn't stand this guy. He was arrogant. He was impolite. He hated sports (and sports fans). He hated people in general. He was weird. We had nothing in common. He didn't get my jokes. I didn't get his jokes, if he even ever made any... He was my total opposite in every conceivable way... and... I couldn't say no to him.

From the beginning, he treated me as if I were the person I would be, not the person I was. He is always already at the finish line, while I am leisurely trotting around the pen, munching on clovers, perusing the crowd of kids at the fence for sugar cubes or a good solid pat on the head. Wait, I don't actually know much more about horses, so this metaphor is going to have to stop before I say something ridiculous, unless it's too late.

Anyway, BLAMMO! We are living the life of a couple married for 50 years. No bother with any of that time-wasting getting-to-know you stuff, but instant maintenance phase. Within the first week. We lived a comfy routine, had assigned household chores, that kind of thing. Romance, flowers, poetry, weekends spent in bed feeding each other, kissing raindrops off one another's skin, going on wild adventures, discovering our bodies anew, giggling like children -- nope, nunnavit. Instead, cat box duty. Putting things away after we're done with them in their prescribed places. Dishes. Packed weekday lunches. Chamomile tea. Waiting in the car before I've even decided which shoes to wear. Morning routines.

The biggest change to adjust to was sleeping nude every night. I used to do it sometimes, when I was feeling especially indulgent or naughty. With him, it was one of those of-course/ because-I-said-so/ as-if-there-is-any-other-way things.  I like PJ's and even when seeing someone who would end up seeing me (or at least feeling around in the dark to find me) naked anyway; I like to start out covered up and seductively get peeled like a sex banana. But, no more. Kiss it goodbye. It's naked time.

To the untrained heart, it might sound like I'm living in some kind of crazy one-way dictatorship, but... don't get me wrong. I adore this man with every bit of energy I can muster. I like that he ruffles my fur. I kind of love that he is so sure of stuff. I love that he's good at everything he tries. I love that he's so sure of me, even though, I'm never "sure" about anything ever! I love being a part in the machine that is his life. I love caring for him, and (at least in my fantasy world) chipping away at his hard candy shell. He says he's the way he is because he already has anticipated every possible string of outcomes to a problem and therefore knows the ultimate end result, so, hurry up and get to the destination would ya? Quit dilly-dallying. He says we don't talk about things because discussions just for the sake of discussing are a waste of time. He's about answers. He's about certainty. He's about unwavering truth. He's at the destination first, waiting for the world to catch up.

But, I'm by nature, a major dilly-dallyer. Philosopher. Waffler. And, mind changer.  I love the Socratic method. I like making one move at a time, and seeing how a small change affects the entire landscape; then base my next decision on this whole new view. I take my time. I savor. I evolve. The artist/scientist in me experiments and makes observations, then ponders, does something else and starts it all again. I like to debate about possibilities, reach enlightened conclusions. I'm a big fan of saying "hmmm, I hadn't thought of that;" and getting other people to say it in return. I thrive on 'what if's and 'yeah, but's.

It's kind of a fundamental difference in his and my thought processes.

The worst part is, he's hardly ever wrong -- and I hate to admit it. I mean, rushing through something and having it turn out right is fine, but... I like to know why and how and what if this or that happened instead and consider exceptions or make substitutions and speculate about potential different results just in case you have to do it again and the plan gets foiled. I get frustrated when I get rushed and can't solve the puzzle. And I'm never satisfied with, "trust me" or "just because." I hate absolutes with a fiery passion and believe that true black and true white are impossible to know. I get worked up when people cop-out and refuse to stay openminded, or when they end conversations and change subjects when challenged. 

So, usually, when we talk, I end up crying in anger or frustration at his blockheadedness. I storm off, I act ridiculous. It does make me feel small and useless when he discards the best part, in my opinion, but half the time, we agree on the end result. (For example the glue argument alluded to earlier was a doosy... who gets upset over glue?! Me! It's insane. We were at Lowe's buying glue, and I said something like 'I thought wood glue only worked on unfinished wood,' or something equally assinine; and then a long discussion of glue possibilities ensued, and he ended up getting the one he was going to get all along, and was TO'd about me wasting time with this big pointless glue debate when I was clearly not an expert on the matter, and... sigh... that difference rears its head again.)

I blamed birth control for most of my loss of emotional stability (and I'm still not convinced it's not the cause!), but really... it's maybe just that he gets to me. He gets to me like nobody else can, and he recklessly mashes all the buttons I like to keep hidden in my secret panel. Nobody's ever found those buttons before. He's hacked me! He doesn't even know how I work, and he's hacked me! And he's just mashing the buttons, not even knowing what they're for! I don't even know what they're for! Ack, be gentle, you're going to break something in there!! Waiiiitttttt!!!

I have never in my life felt so naked, exposed, and yet... comfortable, safe, and loved. I've never been so frustrated but at the same time, so... impressed. Astounded. Overwhelmed. And helplessly, hopelessly, attached, like puzzle pieces finally joined. And glued. With that kind of glue that comes in the 2 tubes that aren't supposed to mix until you're really SURE about where to stick that thing. That's us. You can get it at Lowe's. We were just there the other day.

He's the chemical catalyst that makes me strong. No, scratch that -- makes US strong. He's awesome on his own, as am I, and we have our uses in society and/or other chemical or industrial applications; but, before we got together the first time, noobdy could predict what would happen when we mixed, and now... I can't see me having any better purpose. The things I can do on my own, while good, seem to pale in comparison to the things I suspect we're meant to do in life together. Things he already knows and has been trying to tell me all along, but on this one thing -- he's actually been pretty patient with me taking my time and figuring it out. I know he still thinks its pointless, but he at least sees that it's important to me, and that means the world.

I feel as if I was happy as a pasture pony, because I had it down pat. It was easy, fun... but he already knew I'd be running the Derby, and I didn't believe him. How could anyone know that, what if I didn't even qualify, what if I broke an ankle and got sent to the glue factory... what made him so sure, there are a thousand possible... oh, wait. OK, fine, but... you better like where this thing is stuck, buddy; because with this crazy glue, it ain't budging.