less power ballad, more indie folk rock
Alison had me over for dinner, and afterward we watched Ally McBeal while playing Bitch and balancing carrot cake in our laps. They were two deeply depressing episodes - her client was being sued for fraud because she married a man not for love, but because she thought he would be a good, financially stable father. Of course, this forced the court to debate what makes a marriage legitimate, and Ally kept insisting that it was about finding your other half, about all-consuming passion and not compromising.
Sometime during a lull in the A plot, Alison asked how I knew Brandon was the one. I thought about it through two turns and a reminding prod from her, but only because there isn't an impressive answer. We didn't look at each other and fall in love - neither of us are exactly what the other considers their physical type. There were no choirs of angels, he didn't stand outside my window with a boombox - actually, that probably would've been a bad idea, as we tend to disagree on music a lot. But we can be in the same room together doing nothing in particular and be completely happy just for each others' presence. He remembers to bring me coffee if he gets some for himself; if I stop at a gas station, I always find something trivial for him, even if it's just a bottle of Coke (we try not to keep any in the house generally). We both like to stay up late, we laugh at the same jokes on The Daily Show, we have the same general world view. We listen when the other has a concern and feel free to talk about our own problems, and neither of us likes to yell. We split the chores. I love that he brings home strange musical instruments like they were stray puppies, and he's delighted by the fact that I'm a good audience for his ridiculous pun-based humor. Being with him is quiet and warm, and we can both be just a little less responsible because the other is there to pick up the occasional slack. Life is better and easier with him, and isn't that the point?
But none of that is particularly grand or even all that special, really, not like the fireworks and intensity that some people characterize love as. And sometimes I wonder if it should be, but then I see him and think, "I'm so happy he's mine."
Sometime during a lull in the A plot, Alison asked how I knew Brandon was the one. I thought about it through two turns and a reminding prod from her, but only because there isn't an impressive answer. We didn't look at each other and fall in love - neither of us are exactly what the other considers their physical type. There were no choirs of angels, he didn't stand outside my window with a boombox - actually, that probably would've been a bad idea, as we tend to disagree on music a lot. But we can be in the same room together doing nothing in particular and be completely happy just for each others' presence. He remembers to bring me coffee if he gets some for himself; if I stop at a gas station, I always find something trivial for him, even if it's just a bottle of Coke (we try not to keep any in the house generally). We both like to stay up late, we laugh at the same jokes on The Daily Show, we have the same general world view. We listen when the other has a concern and feel free to talk about our own problems, and neither of us likes to yell. We split the chores. I love that he brings home strange musical instruments like they were stray puppies, and he's delighted by the fact that I'm a good audience for his ridiculous pun-based humor. Being with him is quiet and warm, and we can both be just a little less responsible because the other is there to pick up the occasional slack. Life is better and easier with him, and isn't that the point?
But none of that is particularly grand or even all that special, really, not like the fireworks and intensity that some people characterize love as. And sometimes I wonder if it should be, but then I see him and think, "I'm so happy he's mine."