love

My wife kicked me out of bed this morning to go for a run. It had been a week (hey, I’ve got a couple of excuses). It was cold out.

It was good.

And this was in my head, reminding me of our college days, driving through the night in the hopes of holding my girl. (Okay, more than holding, but yes, holding, too)

Love is not something you do,

It is not how you behave.

There’s nothing you can do that constitutes loving another,

No action that is of itself loving.

Love is a way of being.

And more than that.

It is simply being,

Being with another person, however they may be.

Holding no judgements, having no agendas,

No need to have them experience your love,

No desire to demonstrate love,

No intrusion upon their soul.

Nothing but a total acceptance of their being,

Born of your total acceptance of yours.

- Peter Russell, Author

One thing that always takes me back… the Who.

When my wife and I were dating, I had a car with a casette deck. (some of you may have to go ask your parents what that is. It’s okay, we’ll wait.) It had a feature where when it reached the end of the tape it would automatically switch to the other side (called “autoreverse,” and it wasn’t on every tape deck - you had to look for it. Yes, I’m a fucking dinosaur. At least I didn’t have the 8 track anymore by the time this takes place)

Anyway. I had a car, which is pertinant to this story, and in the car was a tape deck, and in the tape deck was a copy of Hooligans, which could play for hours (thanks to the autoreverse and a Sears Die Hard) and to this day just about any time I hear a song by the Who (5:15 just came on the radio, I’m out of my brain on the train) I can remember the orgasmic fun we had in that car, hiding out near the water tower.

Back when we could actually do gymnastics in a Datsun.

Not that I’m old now or anything…

(thanks to Michael for the photo, and thanks to the Who for reminding me of high school)

I know I shouldn’t keep dipping into classic(?) rock lyrics to tell my stories, but this came on the radio and it seemed soo fitting.

Guess what we did on Saturday? More than once? Go ahead, guess. (taps foot)

OK, perhaps this classic rock lyric could be a clue:
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Thank you, one and all, for putting up with me on a semi-regular basis.

Things are, indeed, looking better (but Mir I’m still thinking about the lamp thing). Yesterday was incredibly productive, if you count spending half the day trying to re-engineer the Silverware Drawer from Hell productive.

Regarding my post about the other night? Um, yeah, I’ve got some things to work out, I guess. They’re all in my head. I’m seeing things, or maybe wanting to see things, that aren’t there. I’m worried over nothing.

And yes, I’ve started talking. Perhaps in a twisted, bloggy way, but my little rant the other night has opened up some communication. Before, during, and after our afternoon visit, my wife heard what I was saying and took my words just like they sounded, that I was fine meeting her old (really old, two and a half decades ago) boyfriend, that it was fun. Inside I was torn up because, as a rather sensitive penis-carrying human, well, I imagined I was seeing things. So I go blogging about it, and my bride is left with a huge WTF? response to see how torn up I had made myself.

I think my wife has summed it up pretty well in her response:

It wasn’t a competition between you in any way. I’m yours. Period. You’re my rock. My head belongs nestled into your shoulder. My home is with you, in your arms, listening to you snore, hearing you laugh at a joke.

Case closed. If I start ranting about this, again? Somebody please bitch slap me with a trout or something.

Ok?