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rambly relationships rant part 20568345
moose
ilovelife94

The first day alone is always the worst.

I stare at my empty apartment, and I feel empty. The bed. The kitchen. The couch. His lack of clutter. His not being here.

I used to believe relationships were this big crazy things you couldn't control. It was in the language, even. "What if I fall out of love?" "What if I just wake up one day, and we don't click anymore?"
Recently I've been thinking that's bullshit. There are always going to be other people for me to fall in love with. There are always going to be arguments. 
You look at those couples who just obviously "don't work." They're so different. They don't communicate well. They don't click. But they're still together. Sometimes, they're still happy. Relationships aren't these mystical beings like dragons that you have to tame. They can be as wild or as sedate as you want. You can stay together, or you can break up. Only thing you can't control is the other person. 
It's like a railroad. If you are on parallel tracks going the same directions, you can sync up. You have to talk about it. "Hey, how are you feeling about this today?" "Hey, I'm not crazy about you today." But just because there are off days, just because there are days when you feel like, "Jesus, I've been in THIS relationship before," or "He didn't thank me enough" doesn't mean you're doomed. Relationships aren't doomed. They aren't fated to be one thing or another. You and one other person have complete control of the trajectory of the relationship.
I'm not saying I'll never experience another breakup. I'm not saying I've figured it out. But I'm OK with this.

Not "this." Not this empty apartment. Certainly not this cold bed. But with watching Troy at 3 a.m. Getting old and more than likely fat. 

I am at that age where I'm not old, but I can feel it coming. I'm out of college. But I'm still young and crazy and invincible. It's still me against the world. But I look at old people differently. I see them and think, "Holy shit, that's going to be me." I can feel the changes just around the corner. I can feel myself thinking the young whippersnappers are so crazy. We can be as young as we want. I hope I'm young when I'm 70. But I'll probably take the changes as they come. I just don't want them yet.

I probably have another 10 years of youngishness. People aren't old until they're 30, right? 32? I don't even want to get married until I'm 27, have kids (MAYBE) at 35. People live longer now. I can do what I want. But I've started thinking differently. I suddenly want to wear a helmet when I bike. I want to eat right and exercise. I am thinking about what I'll be like when I'm 60. I know I have to pay for things, and I need new clothes. I think it's called "maturity." I think it's called "being an adult." But being an adult does not mean "being old." Yet.

It's both sad and normal. Passage of time. A Visit from the Goon Squad, yar. Life feels totally out of control and totally malleable. It's terrifying. It's exciting. It's boring as fuck, depending on if it's my off day and if I'm by myself staring at a wall.

But I'm not really worried about "us." I live 300 miles away, and it's the least worried about "us" I've ever been. It sucks that my weekends are Tuesday-Wednesday (for now). It sucks that I have to come home to an empty apartment and then I cry for a few seconds before telling myself to suck it the fuck up and stop being a child, crying like someone took your damn pacifier. Put on your big girl pants and go hang out with Brian/other friends. You'll live. It sucks to love another human being for everything they are (and are not). It especially sucks when they drive you absolutely nuts and then they're gone and you wish they were here to drive you nuts some more. 

Maybe we'll move away together, and it won't work out. We'll move into a smallish apartment we share and drive each other crazy. I'll want him to do the dishes. He'll want me to vacuum. We'll argue about money. I'll listen to "Big Girls Don't Cry" as I pack my stuff, sobbing, moving out, moving on. I'll cry for months after the breakup, randomly, when it hits me, so tempted to just text him, both of us being too stubborn.

But maybe not. "In five years time, we might not get along. In five years time, you might just prove me wrong." My mom would say, "If it's meant to be, it'll work out." I say, "If we make it work, it'll work." I feel like I've said that before. I don't know.

But I wouldn't change it for anything.



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