It’s what the title says. For two years already, I’m together with Experiment No.7. I wanted to make note of that. Two. Fucking. Whole. Years. That might not seem like much, but if you know that I used to believe no one would put up with me for more than a one-night-stand, it’s quite the milestone.
I could write about all the things I love about No.7, as they are numerous. But I won’t. I want to commemorate this milestone not by mooning over him, but by writing down all the things that annoy and frustrate me about him. Because I can live with them. We wouldn’t have made it this far without compromise, and I love him despite them.
1. He thinks his feelings and thoughts are unique. He thinks HE is unique, and as such that no one can understand his pain and suffering, that no one has ever felt or thought the same before him. He can get so caught up in his own melancholia… it makes me want to throw a bunch of Bildungsromans at his head and cal him Werther.
2. He’s a picky eater. And by picky, I mean toddler-like picky. He’d order the children’s menu in a restaurant if I let him. I love to eat and I love to cook, so you can probably picture my frustration when he starts to dissect his meals. -_-
3. He’s a tactless personal hygiene freak. He’s capable of suddenly grabbing my hand, holding it up, and then asking me what I’ve been doing to my nails. He also feels my hair to check if it’s greasy, and inspects my ears to see if there isn’t any “stuff” in them. And don’t get me started on hair. He once demanded tweezers because a hair in one of my eyebrows was bothering him. Just saying. He doesn’t seem to realize that unlike his mom, I can’t afford to put myself in restoration works at the beauty salon every week…
4. He’s damn pathetic at times. But then, so am I. No further comment.
5. He’s a worrywart. He worries about the most ridiculous, inane things. It’s like worrying about futilities is his way to cope with the stuff that really matters; he just pushes it in front of him and tries not to think of it while he worries about less important things.
6. He has a serious case of Peter Pan Syndrome. He doesn’t want to grow up. The adult life, with a job, a place of his own, actual responsibilities… scares him so much that he shies away even from discussing it. Which means that there is no motivation/support whatsoever from his side for my dreams of growing up and being independent.
7. He’s afraid of expectations. He doesn’t expect anything of me (except perfect manicure, for some reason), and whenever people start expecting things of him (like decent school results, or initiative) he breaks down into melancholia and depression. Sometimes it feels like I’m Sisyphus and he’s the rock that always falls down again right before he reaches the top. It’s demotivating beyond describe.
This is my list for now; the items are in no particular order.
I could have written about the great sex, about his gorgeous long hair, his swordsmanship, or his willingness to support my Tolkien obsession. I could have elaborated on his kind and gentle character, his sense of humor, his firm backside, his obedience to my orders, or his understanding of my needs both sadist and masochist. I could have done that and much more, and I didn’t. That doesn’t make those things less important, on the contrary. I cherish his strengths, because I know his weaknesses.
When we just got together, I wrote to him:
“I can’t promise you everything, no one know what the future might bring… But if this were the last day, there is no place I would rather stay than with you.”
And two years later, I can still support that statement. That should count for something, no?