Living Sinfully and Writing Ruefully
A year and a month after our first kiss on Julie's couch, Greg and I are now officially living together. It's so weird to say: living together. It sounds like so much less than it actually is.
Greg and I have discussed the fact that there is not a word that really captures our relationship. We're not married, nor is he simply my "boyfriend." We're not "dating," because that sounds as if we're casually going to chain restaurants and the local Cinemark and kissing on a doorstep every night. I think the new term I shall use from this moment on is Daterraige. It's halfway between dating and marriage; that limbo state where you're completely committed, but without all the pomp and circumstance. Daterraige sounds more like what we're doing, which involves a lot of life-changing decision-making without involving kids or mortgages. We're making decisions like putting our name on a lease together. We're integrating our book collections. We're discussing possible names for future pets. We're comparing mucus issues.
So Daterraige it is. I would think of the term for Greg himself, but the only cross between boyfriend and husband I can think of is boyband, and that sounds nothing like my Goyo.
Anyway, our new apartment is lovely. Or so I hope. For the moment, I am in Norman house/kidsitting for some friends. My apartment is in Greg's capable hands. The Greg who now, by the way, is gainfully employed. (I still lack this quality.) The Greg who built a corner shelf that looks much like this one but cost about a quarter of what a pre-built one would have. The Greg who sort of amazes me all over again every day that I'm with him.
Am I still gushing? Once it starts, it gets very difficult to stop. Most of my other topics of conversation tend to be downers. Such as reiterating that I am still jobless (though making money in various ways, so not completely destitute....yet), or that I am becoming angered with my education, or the fact that I've magically gained five pounds since returning to Tulsa. (Yes, it was magic. Of course the fact that I haven't exercised much and have systematically eaten my way through every pantry I've seen has nothing to do with it.) My life at the moment has few bright spots other than the one that makes coffee every morning.
I've tried to keep writing as much as I can lately, though it seems that most of my writing energy is focused on cover letters and the bios I did for Greg's dad's website. Perhaps it's not all been creative or particularly exciting, but my goal as of late is not to specifically write anything exciting, but to make sure I'm writing every day. It's kind of like practicing a foreign language. You don't have to be having long, involved conversations about politics to make sure your language skills are intact. You could order pizza and read aloud, but at least you're doing something. On the days when I write absolutely nothing, I feel a little wasted. But even writing a cover letter gives me the opportunity to play with my words and to casually sneak in phrases from some of my favorite books and movies. The reader is usually never aware that I do this, but it gives me such unimaginable joy to know that I manage to spice up my own drabble with something a bit more exciting. My cover letters are starting to get more desperate as of late, and some sound almost as if I'm begging for the job.
Dear Mr. Hiring Manager,
I am writing in response to your advertisement for a manure hauler for your company, Shittastic!. I would be so appreciative if you would take the time to consider my resume and qualifications. I know I am the best shit shoveler you will ever find, as I have basically cleaned out the asses of anyone who might possibly give me a job with my supreme brown-nosing skills. Once you have tried to suck up to as many people as I have, believe me, the shit starts piling up and you can't just leave it sitting right there in front of you!
Today, though, I managed to use the words "expediency" and "discretion" in a very professional way, so I'm hoping they decide that - based on my masterful use of the English language - I must be the greatest Administrative Assistant/Executive Assistant/Receptionist/Secretary they'll ever find.
It's getting to the point that working as a barrista at Starbucks is beginning to look like a prime opportunity. I'm going to keep looking, though, and keep hoping something worthwhile will come along. I'll send out my requisite 10 applications a week and crank out cover letters like BAMA cranks out pies.
Greg and I have discussed the fact that there is not a word that really captures our relationship. We're not married, nor is he simply my "boyfriend." We're not "dating," because that sounds as if we're casually going to chain restaurants and the local Cinemark and kissing on a doorstep every night. I think the new term I shall use from this moment on is Daterraige. It's halfway between dating and marriage; that limbo state where you're completely committed, but without all the pomp and circumstance. Daterraige sounds more like what we're doing, which involves a lot of life-changing decision-making without involving kids or mortgages. We're making decisions like putting our name on a lease together. We're integrating our book collections. We're discussing possible names for future pets. We're comparing mucus issues.
So Daterraige it is. I would think of the term for Greg himself, but the only cross between boyfriend and husband I can think of is boyband, and that sounds nothing like my Goyo.
Anyway, our new apartment is lovely. Or so I hope. For the moment, I am in Norman house/kidsitting for some friends. My apartment is in Greg's capable hands. The Greg who now, by the way, is gainfully employed. (I still lack this quality.) The Greg who built a corner shelf that looks much like this one but cost about a quarter of what a pre-built one would have. The Greg who sort of amazes me all over again every day that I'm with him.
Am I still gushing? Once it starts, it gets very difficult to stop. Most of my other topics of conversation tend to be downers. Such as reiterating that I am still jobless (though making money in various ways, so not completely destitute....yet), or that I am becoming angered with my education, or the fact that I've magically gained five pounds since returning to Tulsa. (Yes, it was magic. Of course the fact that I haven't exercised much and have systematically eaten my way through every pantry I've seen has nothing to do with it.) My life at the moment has few bright spots other than the one that makes coffee every morning.
I've tried to keep writing as much as I can lately, though it seems that most of my writing energy is focused on cover letters and the bios I did for Greg's dad's website. Perhaps it's not all been creative or particularly exciting, but my goal as of late is not to specifically write anything exciting, but to make sure I'm writing every day. It's kind of like practicing a foreign language. You don't have to be having long, involved conversations about politics to make sure your language skills are intact. You could order pizza and read aloud, but at least you're doing something. On the days when I write absolutely nothing, I feel a little wasted. But even writing a cover letter gives me the opportunity to play with my words and to casually sneak in phrases from some of my favorite books and movies. The reader is usually never aware that I do this, but it gives me such unimaginable joy to know that I manage to spice up my own drabble with something a bit more exciting. My cover letters are starting to get more desperate as of late, and some sound almost as if I'm begging for the job.
Dear Mr. Hiring Manager,
I am writing in response to your advertisement for a manure hauler for your company, Shittastic!. I would be so appreciative if you would take the time to consider my resume and qualifications. I know I am the best shit shoveler you will ever find, as I have basically cleaned out the asses of anyone who might possibly give me a job with my supreme brown-nosing skills. Once you have tried to suck up to as many people as I have, believe me, the shit starts piling up and you can't just leave it sitting right there in front of you!
Today, though, I managed to use the words "expediency" and "discretion" in a very professional way, so I'm hoping they decide that - based on my masterful use of the English language - I must be the greatest Administrative Assistant/Executive Assistant/Receptionist/Secretary they'll ever find.
It's getting to the point that working as a barrista at Starbucks is beginning to look like a prime opportunity. I'm going to keep looking, though, and keep hoping something worthwhile will come along. I'll send out my requisite 10 applications a week and crank out cover letters like BAMA cranks out pies.