There comes a time in every blogger’s life when they must draw a line between what they’ll publish for all the world to see and what must remain hidden in diaries and conversations with BFFs. I don’t know if I’ll ever come to that time, but I know this for certain: I’m totally okay with blogging about how to give the perfect blow job. Also: There are some things that you, Internet, just don’t care about knowing.
I know, for instance, that you don’t care about my amazing ability to clog a toilet with my industrial-strength poopage, and that you would rather not read the corniness of how I wake up every morning to Riley’s smiling face and instantly perk up. I know this because, well, quite frankly, I would puke a little in my mouth if I read either of those things on someone else’s blog. You have my word, Internet, that I will never talk in-depth about either of those subjects. Something else that I will never mention in detail? My problems with Rob.
Now, you might say, that sounds like a line drawn in the sand. A boundary that I have drawn between us. A subject that I have chosen not to talk about because of discomfort and awkwardness. Don’t get me wrong: I’m sure there are subjects that fit that profile, but this isn’t one of them. And if I ever come across a subject like that, I’m sure as hell not going to dive into it. (Actually, when I think about it, I can’t think of anything that does fit that description.) But no, this isn’t one of those.
This is what I know: Being in a long-term monogamous relationship is tedious. It’s frustrating. It’s hard work. It’s difficult as all hell. It takes the stamina, perseverance, strength and rigor of Secretariat. It takes the patience, compassion, empathy and dedication of Mother Theresa. It takes the stubborn idealism of President Obama and the simple wisdom of Willie Nelson. It is not for the faint of heart.
And yet it’s what me and Rob are doing. It’s what we signed up for. It’s what we believe in and hope to achieve. We wake up each morning knowing that we’ll inevitably get on each others’ nerves. We know we’ll annoy, irritate, and tick-off each other. And we push ahead.
This knowledge is not dark or negative. It’s not a precursor to break-ups or a sign of inevitable fault lines. It is simply fact. Maybe not that day, maybe only in a joking manner, maybe indirectly – I’ll eventually find myself pulling out my hair and Rob will eventually find himself smoking on the balcony. We are simply bound to antagonize each other in some way. We are bound to do something that makes the other person uncomfortable. We are bound to sit up and take note that our perfection is subjective. We think we are the perfect couple and that makes it true. But what the hell do we know?
This love, our relationship, is awesome and fortifying and yet a constant reminder of my own shortcomings and frailties. It makes me feel invincible and that emotion, the rawness and tangibility of it, somehow emphasizes the truth of my mortality. It doesn’t make sense, and as I’m writing this Rob asked me a question that completely derailed my thinking process and makes me wonder if anything I’m writing makes sense… I feel like I don’t know what I know, and that feeling is the seed of every frustration I’ve ever had, and yet I am certain of this:
We are two imperfect people who somehow come together to form a perfect union.
We are silent performers on a tight-rope, happy to hold each others’ hands as we deftly maneuver on unicycles and complete somersaults.
We are writing a story the likes of which I could never fathom before meeting Rob.
These facts are miracles of existence that I am fortunate to experience and too modest to get into. It’s the mundanity of it all that makes it relatable and also too vulgar to mention. (Not vulgar like dirty, but vulgar like common.)
So, no, I’m not going to talk about the tedious parts of being in a long-term monogamous relationship. And I think you should be quite happy about this, since all those posts would read as: My temper got the best of me. Rob made me feel better. I’m the luckiest girl in the world!
But there’s this thing I do with my tongue that I’d be more than happy to discuss…