Reality - Trumbiniks make for Zany Picnics
It's ridiculous how hard it is, 50% of the time, to understand and appreciate what I have with John. I wish I could concrete it in my mind. I constantly look for ways to discredit everything he does that would otherwise impress or please me. It's become more apparent to me lately and I've started to call myself out on the absurdity of it all - I found myself writing off his eight successive boggle wins as "lucky," and the impressive words he found (one of which was "supine") as "nice guesses."
I want that to go away. That part of me that is so obnoxious. That part which jumps on every word he uses incorrectly or rolls its eyes when he misspeaks. That part of me that denies his cognitive ability because he's only just now learning how to verbally express himself. The part of me that is convinced that he needs me to breathe down his neck, or else he'd never further himself intellectually (especially when he's the one who is obsessed with having a huge classical music library, is infatuated with word games, and gets excited about his drive to work because he can listen to auditory books).
While it seems that my feelings toward him are incredibly unstable, our day-to-day dynamic is comfortable and loving. We can talk to one another and laugh, hold one another and sleep, work happily beside one another for hours and not talk. We're there for one another.
Sometimes, I see him as being so childish. Then, at times, I see that I can be so childish myself. There are some moments when it hits me, usually our cheeks are pressed to pillows and we're looking at one another, that we're like playmates; at those times, I want to travel the world with him and/or run off with him, hand-in-hand, mischievous and thrilled to have found another trumbinik like me.
Nothing else seems to matter when I can see the world this way. How can I make this reality stick?
I want that to go away. That part of me that is so obnoxious. That part which jumps on every word he uses incorrectly or rolls its eyes when he misspeaks. That part of me that denies his cognitive ability because he's only just now learning how to verbally express himself. The part of me that is convinced that he needs me to breathe down his neck, or else he'd never further himself intellectually (especially when he's the one who is obsessed with having a huge classical music library, is infatuated with word games, and gets excited about his drive to work because he can listen to auditory books).
While it seems that my feelings toward him are incredibly unstable, our day-to-day dynamic is comfortable and loving. We can talk to one another and laugh, hold one another and sleep, work happily beside one another for hours and not talk. We're there for one another.
Sometimes, I see him as being so childish. Then, at times, I see that I can be so childish myself. There are some moments when it hits me, usually our cheeks are pressed to pillows and we're looking at one another, that we're like playmates; at those times, I want to travel the world with him and/or run off with him, hand-in-hand, mischievous and thrilled to have found another trumbinik like me.
Nothing else seems to matter when I can see the world this way. How can I make this reality stick?