Pelican

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I have no idea what I’m doing.  With anything.  That should be fairly evident to anyone who’s spent any time with me at all.  Relationships are no different.  I find little things to puzzle over, laugh at, get pissed at, etc., all the time.  For example, I’m in the process of trying to train Mancandy to not start a thought with a “huh” or “wow” or “hm” out loud as if more information is coming and then NOT SAY ANYTHING!  It makes me want to use a spoon to pop his eyeballs out and then shove them up his nose.  Don’t make me ask what EVERY TIME YOU WANT TO SAY SOMETHING.  JUST SAY IT.  For example, if I see a news article that resonates with me in a strong way, I may start with a “huh”.  However, I will then immediately follow that up with WHY I just verbalized the “huh”.  If you’re sitting in a room with Mancandy he will not.  You have to ask him.  If you had any idea how many times I’ve said “what?” to the man you would be sympathetic.  I know I sound crazy.  I don’t care.  If he doesn’t stop I will cause him bodily harm.  So I’m training him.  Slowly.  He’s resistant to training.

Anywho, that isn’t really what this was supposed to be about (although now I’m irritated all over again).  One of the things I’ve recently learned is how much being in a relationship will change your entire mindset about little things.  When Mancandy got up at his stupid early hour I got to roll over to face his side of the bed.  I did this with utmost pleasure.  I sprawled out, rearranged his pillows, smiled, sighed, and snoozed until I heard the shower turn off and decided I wanted to make coffee.  It felt sinfully delicious.

I can roll over that way at any point, there’s no rule keeping me from doing it, but I have this thing about not wanting to breathe in air that just came out of your face.  I assumed everyone was that way.  I am pretty darn happy with candy o’man, but I still don’t want to breathe in his used up air.  It creeps me out when people just lay there face to face comingling oxygen.  I always find that super awkward in movies, or watching people in real life.  In testosterone laden shows and movies where angry men are in each other’s faces talking trash pre-fight, my skin crawls. I know at any point he may be facing me, and then if I roll his way our faces will be close together.  I am not a fan.

I’ve tried to find ways to avoid this without being obvious.  I don’t know if it’s actually hurtful to other people to know I’m rejecting their lung waste, but I don’t want to hurt him if it is.  What if Hollywood made people think it’s romantic?  What if men think women actually WANT this!?  So I have figured out I can tilt my head back and breathe in the air over his head.  The fact he hasn’t commented on my odd position (I imagine I look like some sort of large water bird, a pelican maybe, that is throwing its head back creepily far to swallow a fish) makes me think he’s either oblivious or he’s not crazy about the breathing thing either.  As you can imagine, laying like that for long periods of time does not make for a happy experience when you try to move.  It’s also not conducive to sleep.

I try to flip only when I know he’s facing the other way (I have actually gotten really good at listening to his breathing to pinpoint his position ahead of time).  This also allows me to find the perfect position for my conch piercing.  Almost a year later and that sucker still screams when I try to lay on that side of my head.  I find that rude.  But I digress.  If his back is to me we’re both perfectly content.  Plenty of fresh air for all.  But after I fall asleep he’ll flip and I’ll wake up to our co-breathing and immediately have part of my brain melt.

So.  I tend to stay facing the wall on my side of the bed.  Which is perfectly comfortable.  But the times I can face whichever way I want are so sweet.  There are multiple examples of weird stuff I never thought about until now.  And I’m well aware this works both ways.  I have this weird thing about tapping my toothbrush exactly three times when I’m finished brushing my teeth.  I imagine there are nights he wants to yank it out of my hands and stab me for my Rain Man tendencies.  I, with few exceptions, must buy even numbers of items from grocery stores.  One jar of spaghetti sauce rather than two or four will cause me great distress.  I have to get up in the middle of the night to pee.  Every night without fail.  And I almost always trip over nothing, or knock into the door frame, or stub my toe and make noise.  I’m strange, make up rules that have no basis in logic, and I get irrationally irritated.

For example, waiting for him to turn on a show makes my head explode.  He will offer our favorite, Bob’s Burgers, while we eat.  Instead he’ll put on a few minutes of one of his favorite Youtube gamer personalities (this entire concept makes no sense to me), then about 5 minutes in he’ll stop it and flip through all the recommended items in Youtube, then flip back through things he already watched to tell me whether he liked it or not, eventually get around to opening Hulu where he also needs to look through everything recommended (commenting on its presence there and whether he agrees with it) before looking at EVERY AVAILABLE EPISODE before finally picking one and starting it.  By then I’ve eaten, gotten a drink refill, and am researching which poisons aren’t detected on the toxicology reports from an autopsy.  It makes him happy, it causes no harm, so it shouldn’t be a problem, but I hate it.

Another example.  There’s a clothes hamper in the closet.  The closet is inside of the master bath, across from the shower, and a max of 4 steps from any location in the bathroom.  I have asked 3513543513.35 times that dirty clothes and towels be put in the hamper.  I don’t even ask that clothes from the bedroom be carried in.  Just the stuff that comes off while you are in the bathroom.  However.  The side of the tub contains draped towels and underwear 99.9% of the time.  From that exact point, it is LESS than two full steps to the hamper.  I don’t like to nag, so I figured he’d understand if I asked a few times and then made a point of picking his stuff up in front of him to put it in the hamper RIGHT THERE.  Nope.  He’ll give me a distracted “thanks” if anything, and waltz away.

I realize they are small things.  And he more than makes up for it.  When I moved in the cats walking on my face and getting into territorial disputes on the bed while we were sleeping was super groovy.  I kicked them out of the bedroom.  They spent hours every single night for months yowling outside of the door and scratching the carpet and door.  They actually tore the carpet up.  He never told me to get over it and let them in.  And he didn’t get angry about the ruined carpet.  When my dog has a rough time with mobility and hurts, he is the best nurse and exceedingly patient.  When I’m cooking he offers to help and sits in the kitchen with me rather than disappearing into other parts of the house for more entertaining options.  When I can’t see the good in myself, he reminds me.  When we’re cleaning he’ll play goofy music much too loud and dance around with me until I’m laughing so hard I can’t breathe.  If I don’t have to get up early he’ll take my dog out, give out treats, and bring her back up to the bedroom before leaving for work.  He listens to me whine and complain and debate over my future and my past and all the backed up emotions in my head.  When I can’t figure out what to do with my life he supports me, even when I make mistakes or irresponsible decisions.  When he says he just wants me to be happy he means it. He’s one of the best guys I know.

But I swear on all that’s holy if he doesn’t give me control of the remote I will brutally beat him to death with his own arms.

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