So, I have a boyfriend

So, I'll get through it.

I have been criticized in the past for being less than forthcoming about problems. Some of you are going to yell at me later. Sorry about that. But I'm not a big whiner, or at least I try not to be. I live in fear of being the sort of person who makes her problems other people's problems. In that spirit, and with that warning, this post is only about good things. Yeah, there's some pretty crappy things going down right now. But if focused just on the bad, I wouldn't be able to enjoy my life. And it is a pretty good life, all things considered. For instance:

The Republican showed up Saturday early afternoon, a box of Krispy Kremes in one hand, a sackful of comics in the other. He was full of kisses and warmth and reassurance. And as we curled around each other, I laughed because often I lament to myself that I am not as pretty as I was at 16, or 18, or 19. And like every fool, I feel very alone. But if at 27 I can convince a man to drive 4 hours to see me, and he walks in bearing doughnuts and comics...I must be doing something right.

It's MLK weekend in Atlanta, and no one does anything in celebration of the city's most famous son. There are parades and a procession and community events. Many of my co-workers took days off and stretched the three day weekend into a week long holiday. The gas man would not be bothered to come fix a problem with my heat. The Republican brought me his space heater. We did a decent job of keeping the place warm.

Nothing is settled; the temperature commits itself to 30 degree swings each day, highs in the 60's, lows near 30. So go my emotions, feeling a midwinter tide that pulls on other people as well. Devon has given up on writing. Alestar posts an odd reply to this lament, and I haven given up too. Kati and Heidi write me, don't give up, don't go over, keep running, you are better. Dust despairs because as Devon and I give up, his 20 year old companion declares her intention to be a published poet.

The Republican and I wrestle one morning. Neither of us really wants to hurt the other; it's all in fun. I'm trying to leave the bed, and he doesn't want me too, so I start a fight. Through dread trickery, I end up caught fast. I ask to be let go, and he says I have to promise not to leave for 5 or 6 years. We wrestle for a good half hour before I give up, and I actually say it I give up and he kisses me and nicer things follow and he actually says See how nice it is when you surrender?

And it is nice. I can't lie about that. It's better than nice. I have quit fighting. I never thought I'd say that. But then, I haven't, really; I've written it, and in some ways that's worse.

Of course, just because I've quit fighting doesn't mean I've lost anything; The Republican is just as caught as I am. And for him I bet it's more horrible, because he's never been in love before.

"Isn't this the worst thing ever? Doesn't being in love suck?"

He nodded quietly, and squeezed his eyes shut more tightly, and as he curled around me and I could hear him swallow. I'm afraid we're quite doomed.