1 x 12 x 52 x 7 x 24 x 60 = 23 September
<3 at the Revolver Anniversary, Café SaGuijo, 8 September 2007
I met Jason in December of 2005. My uncle asked me to review a couple of CDs for his music magazine, and having nothing better to do with my time, I agreed. Jason was the magazine's music editor, and he was the guy I got my CDs from. I was a fan of his bands, and being virtually shameless, I asked him for a pair of those big, white-rimmed sunglasses one of his bands wears in all their videos. We met up for coffee, he gave me my sunglasses, and we became friends.
After I broke up with my first boyfriend at the beginning of March in 2006, I promised myself that I would stay single for the next five years. I ended our 14-month long relationship feeling incredibly guilty for hurting him and possibly ruining his life (this is not me or my ego speaking, this is the truth). I had guilt, yes, because I knew I was being selfish. I had guilt. But not a smidgen of regret, because I knew I had to do it for me.
My newfound freedom was exhilarating. I felt like I had the world at my fingertips, or at the very least, endless opportunities to flirt with whomever I wanted; the liberty to go out and do my thing and have fun without worrying that there was someone who would disapprove. For the next five years, I would commit to nothing but my enjoyment. For the next few months, I stayed home and did absolutely nothing.
In early May, I went to one of Jason's gigs because I had already met all the other bands that were playing at some summer junket for MTV and it was the most fun I'd had in years. We had about four bottles of beer apiece and a great conversation before I had to go home, and two days later, I left for Australia with my family. A day or two after we got back, I went to another one of his gigs with some friends. And again, the night after that. For the first time since my strict childhood and my doomed first romance, I was feeling free.
Apparently free enough to keep my promise to flirt with whoever I chose, and kissed another guy; a close friend from high school. I kind of knew from the moment that I did that, from the second that I kissed somebody else, from the odd guilt that came after it (in spite of the fact that I wasn't committed to anyone at the time, and in spite of the fact that I really didn't think Jason liked me that way anyway, or ever would), that I liked him a little and just didn't want to admit it.
It went on for a few more months, the Are We Friends Or Are We More Than Friends? game. People were teasing us endlessly about it, but the last thing I wanted was to assume that someone who didn't actually like like me liked me, and at the same time, I was still more than a little devoted to my Five Years of Freedom campaign. But there I was, writing confused entries about my feelings in my "secret" LiveJournal, and drunkenly admitting to having emotions that I would deny to death in a state of sobriety.
Eventually, it came to a point where I didn't really care that I hadn't even made it half a year into my five-year plan. I found someone who I wasn't afraid to commit to. I found someone who I wanted to spend more time with, even if that time was spent doing absolutely nothing. I found someone who understood me, who put up with me and all my eccentricities, who didn't want to change me, who loved me just the way I was. I loved that boy -- man -- whatever, screw the 10-year age gap -- and we both knew it. On September 23, 2006, Duran Duran Night at SaGuijo (of all nights, it had to be Duran Duran Night), he asked me to be his girlfriend, and I said yes.
I have loved every moment of our relationship. I have loved the 365 days. 52 weeks. 12 months. One year. Every second that we have been together, I have loved.
I wrote this in my "secret blog" a long time ago:
I had forgotten what the beginning of a new relationship felt like. I remember now. I love it.
Suddenly I've begun to realize how much I've missed being a girlfriend. Having someone to be cute with, having someone on whom I can unleash all my secret sweetness, having someone to "report" all my doings to, having someone to talk to all the time, having someone to worry about, having someone to say "I love you" to before going to sleep, little things like that. Actually, just the knowledge that someone is always there and someone cares, that's something I've really missed. Having someone to hold your hand and make you feel safe and taken care of, well, that's another.
I guess you can never really be over any of this.
I'm still not over it. It still feels like such a new relationship to me, as if I had something new and wonderful to discover from it every single day. The difference between something you need and something you want is that needs can eventually be satiated, but wanting is forever.
And I have always wanted this.
(Happy anniversary! I love you!)