Tag Archives: Romance

it’s not always anxiety.

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it’s not always anxiety.

People have always said that I have “such a great imagination” and it is!

It’s a great imagination! I mean, I have the most amazing dreams and I can draw things and I can remember things and I can visualize and I can mimic and I can create things!!!

…but I can also break my own heart. In fact with this great imagination, I can completely tear my own heart out of my chest, 10 times a day.

I can spend 3 minutes considering possibilities and scenarios that have probably never even crossed another person’s mind; imagining situations that other people might be in, scenarios that other people might have been in, might put me in…
Oh and the conversations I have in my head!
Wow… The subsequent fall out from those imagined interactions.

Oh reverie, what a cold bitch you can be…

I spent a lot of time alone when I was younger…
Out of choice,
Out of necessity,
Out of fear,
Dissociation… my head was my safe space…

I also read a lot; read a lot. I’ve decided that’s probably why I’m the semi functional adult you find here today…I can empathize and imagine reasons for every behavior, even to my own detriment.

That’s probably why I always liked law and social work… huh…

I remember going to school and regaling people with tales about “my friends” from somewhere else, telling my mom about “my friends” at school, and then when questioned, realizing I meant “Oh, I mean this girl, in a book I read”…

Now don’t get me wrong, I appreciate my “Choose your own adventure” brain, I do. I really do.

And honestly, the older I have gotten the more positive the potentials have gotten…

All the various versions of my world… my self imposed variable simulations that I run… they aren’t as dark anymore. Well, mostly not as dark anymore…

Sometimes they’re lovely little scenes that play out and comfort me;

My ability to put myself in other people shoes… to anticipate the next move… word… feeling… it’s a tool. Less a maladaptive coping mechanism now.

Somedays I even think, as I’m sitting at my desk, listening for the differences in one case to the next… struggling to check my bias and my imagination and then an oft random thought, it crosses my mind…

As I’m fake smiling at the person across the room…
Boy, had I the nerve I’d have been an amazing actress…

But I didn’t and I don’t…
But here?

Today?

In this body?

In this state?

In this life?

This version of myself?

I can convince myself we have a connection… we are meant to speak to each other. This is no coincidence, me being me, and you being you, and being here:

at this time,

in this place,

and now.

I have already run the paths, the various iterations of us, the probability, determined the risks to mitigate and the possibilities that we are going to have the most amazing life together.

But, we haven’t even spoken. Not really.

If we passed again on the street… I don’t know if there would even be a glimmer of recognition from you. But me?

Oh, I’d know you. Anywhere. I’ve seen you open your eyes while kissing me. Seen you cry at our first grandchild’s birth. You’ve held my hand while we were given the most heartbreaking news. I’ve watched you grow old, watching me grow old.

I’ve already loved you more fiercely than I’ve loved anything or anyone.

I’ve broken your heart and you’ve broken mine and we came back together so many times we’ve both lost count, because that’s just what we do.

That’s what we do for 33 years. 33 passionate years.

But we haven’t even spoken. Not really, not you.

But me? Well, I’ve got a great imagination.

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And today I am grateful…

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And today I am grateful…

For learning experiences that challenge me and fulfill me.

For interactions with people different from me.

For opportunities to give and receive feedback.

For healthy and amazing kids.

For unbroken toes that allow me to walk in ridiculously hot, haute, uncomfortable shoes.

For short months.

For health.

For friends.

For the ability to tell friends I love them and am thinking of them while they go through scary things. (AR you have my thoughts and alllllll my hoobie joobie.)

For friends who tell me they love me and are thinking of me while I go through scary things.

For the ability to learn and grow and understand my childhood and persona.

For the privilege of grad school and student loans.

For stargazer lilies.

For tattooed men.

For tattooed women.

For Kisha, sunflowers and the grateful dead.

For human interaction.

For broken hearts and first loves.

For love.

For hate.

For the capacity to feel both.

For unending lists of things I am grateful for.

For life.

xoxo,

Jani

 

Husband Playbook Page 44: How to make up for being a freaking SCHMUCK

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Husband Playbook Page 44: How to make up for being a freaking SCHMUCK

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 So without boring you with all the sordid, scandalous details, my dear sweet hubby has been a real schmuck lately. For at least the last month or so. Maybe since Christmas even 🙂 Valentine’s wasn’t the best, my birthday had its moments. He did however buy me a bazillion dollars worth of couture shoes and a fancy dress off of my “never gonna get any of this stuff” wish list, so he got SOME brownie points; last night however, got him off the hook for quite a while.

This is how my evening went:

I was at school all evening and received a text stating I needed to call him when I got to my park and ride location and not to ask questions. So I did that. I got home and once in my driveway noticed a note in a ziplock bag hanging on the garage door (to keep it dry of course, it rains here all the blessed time).

I called to let him know I was here to which he replied, “Stay in your car, I will call you when you can come in.” I asked if I should get the note or not and he said “NO stay in your car and I will call you when you can get it…”

I can follow instructions so I did that…

He called and advised me I could come in. I got the note:

So I did as it said, came in, to see our house immaculate, lit with no less than 20 deliciously scented candles and fragrant star-gazer lilies; my husband was standing near the dining room table dressed to the nines gesturing me up the stairs and Stevie Nicks “Belladonna” was playing on the record player.

I went upstairs to find my magical new dress, shoes, another note (that you will not be seeing ;)) and my bedroom alit with candles, lavender and fancy stones spread about.

I wondered where the dog and kids were, but only for a moment; I came to learn (the Girl Child had to zip my dress) that they were all in on it, the Boy Child had the dog in quarantine, the Girl Child was pretending to be asleep.

I went downstairs and danced with my husband in my fancy shoes.

We ate a most delicious Italian tiramisu/trifle like dish he prepared all by himself from scratch that was layered with chocolate cake, pudding, whip cream, kahlua and toffee with hand shaved chocolate curls…

Paired with the most expensive, delicious, well researched Port I have ever had the pleasure of putting on my tongue:

Then we played a game of cribbage all dressed to the nines, drinking wine by candle light. I won. (It may not sound romantic, but it’s how we roll)

Then he switched the record to:

Side 2 😉

Things got a little hotter. And I opted for my spa/massage treatment. The rest of the night is mine, you voyeuristic freaks.

But I can say with all certainty, the massage had a happy ending.

SO. Here’s the moral of the story, Significant Others…

If you are gonna be a schmuck and try to make up for it with expensive trinkets, you better arrange a time for them to be worn or used and pair it with wine and flowers and music and dancing and food and candles and massage and letting the other person win. Romance helps more than the stuff. Just sayin.

Good luck, Schmucks.

Good job, Husband. You get to stick around for a while longer 🙂