I don’t know what has gotten into me. I really just don’t know.
Because it’s 1:30 A.M. and I want nothing more to take the back of my Cheryl Strayed book and slap the highest part of your forehead. One, because you’re snoring that unforgivable “Yetti will not sleep tonight,” snore. Two, because I didn’t like how our last conversation ended even though I know my stubbornness is partially the blame. Three, because I am Petty Yetti, and if I can’t sleep, nobody else can. But I won’t act on these urges because Lord knows I am trying to get better at this whole relationship thing, so instead I’ll turn to my laptop, and see where this annoyance takes me.
It’s hard to believe that this all began back in April 2014. And in April 2014, I was not fucking here for it. It was fun to begin with, but isn’t it always? To have someone desire you the way you’ve seen it done in the movies? It was more than fun. It was perfect. Until you uttered the words “relationship” and “girlfriend” and “falling” all in the same sentence. For most women those words are signs that one does indeed have the “juice,” but for me? Phenomenal Yetti? Those were signs for me to pump the brakes, kick you out of the vehicle, lock my doors, and floor it out of sight.
You see, I have had issues with love and all of the other nouns, verbs, and adjectives that come along with it.
Chase Yetti, yes. Lust over Yetti, go for it. Give Yetti attention, thumbs up. Hell, even desire it in return, it may work.
But ask for exclusivity, fuck no. Use the “G” word, don’t be silly. And want it to be reciprocated? Excuse me, come again?
But it’s now fall of 2016, and due to your persistence and a lot, and I mean a lot, of patience, I am somewhere in Downtown Hartford coaching myself to not shake you out of your sleep because somehow love has happened, and when you love someone they way that I love you, you just don’t do that.
Instead, I’ll exercise patience, because when love happens, you do all that you can to reciprocate your partners efforts. I come with a lot of pieces. Some smooth, some jagged. I am not entirely easy to love and I know this. And in situations where most men would pack up and flee, we’re now somewhere between year two and year three, and you have yet to flinch at my history, nor shy away from the possibility of what my sharp edges may do. You give me the time and space I need to become comfortable with my time and space with you. And when it has resulted in a few days of utter madness or me shutting down, your patience has stood sturdy, never wavering with what may come back in return.
Instead, I’ll show Petty Yetti to the door, because when love happens you do the unthinkable, like tabling your deeply-rooted pettiness or getting on your very open blog, the one you’ve avoided discussing relationships on, and tell the blogging world that you’re so fucking in love, that it scares and excites you every single day. Oh, and that it also makes you want to be a better human. Being a better person has become effortless with you, because when you’re finally in a healthy relationship, one is always compelled to learn to do mentally healthy things. And let’s face it, you deserve the absolute best possible version of me, because I know I am receiving the best possible version of you.
I’ll set this stubbornness to the side too, because when love happens, finding a solution to a silly argument should be quick and easy. With the very few arguments we’ve had, you’ve never hesitated to accept fault where due, and comfort me even while you’re still upset. I guess it’s time for me do the same. Because with you, no dissertation needs to be written for you to want to understand where I am coming from. With you, I don’t need to nag for a conversation to be had, and for us to learn from our mistakes and move forward. Your main goal since 2014 has been to understand me, and in order for that to happen, I know I must dissolve my pride, and learn to come undone with you, as you try very hard to do with me.
And lastly, I’ll come back to bed now. Because when love happens, it’s impossible to stay upset for that long, especially over something you now can’t even remember. The snoring will eventually stop when you search for my body in the middle of night, and I’d like to be there when you sleepily pull me back to my rightful place somewhere within your arms with my face wedged underneath your chin. Because love has happened, like truly happened, and nothing else feels quite like it.
“Riding this thing till the wheels fall off.” – Mr. Smith