Miracles and movement

There are no accurate words to describe the weekend – Saturday especially. I’m considering a miracle of love, a miracle of life – something. I picked Devon up late, due to a dance recital dress rehearsal, and a stop over at my mirror’s house. I was scheduled to spoil her rotten – long week for both of us. When we got back to my place, we discussed the possibility of going to see the new Pirates of the Caribbean movie, which I was super excited about. But she’d never seen the third one (I’d previously showed her the first two) so we chilled on the couch to watch the movie, then I picked up the tickets online for Devon’s not only first Imax movie, but first 3D movie as well. Catherine may have joined us, but wasn’t feeling well, and we did give her semi-short notice. Parking was a bit of a mess due to an event going on downtown, which involved a lot of driving around in circles, going almost all the way back home to stop at the ATM, then back to the parking garage. I got the biggest bucket of popcorn I’ve ever seen, no seriously, and we settled in for our movie. It was fantastic. Devon insists it’s the best of the series, but I’m torn between this one and the third one. Both were epic, but very different, so I’m not sure they can be compared. We went home, the house was still epically hot, so we curled up in the bedroom amid the boxes to attempt to stay up to catch the season finale of Saturday Night Live. We made it. Most definitely. I told her I could find a way to keep her awake, and I did. Repeatedly. There was intensity, there was fire, there was huge romantic declarations, minor tears (but out of happiness and peace, not sadness.) I remember it all vividly, but the highlights stick out in my head – and of the parts I can discuss, I remember holding her as tight as I could…feeling her against me, her head nestled in the hollow of my neck and shoulder, as she told me, over and over again how in love with me she was, how beautiful this was, how this is just the beginning – how she can’t wait to be my wife. We discussed it more on Sunday, on the drive home – how while I feel no anxiety towards the relationship in the conventional sense that I’m used to – irrational fears that I’ll just wake up one morning to discover that she doesn’t love me anymore, etc…we both have moderate moments of anxiety just because of how good it IS, and we’ve both lived with the knowledge that when things seem too good to be true, they usually are. But it is true. It is real. I’m not dreaming. We love each other, and as she said yesterday the reason we DO work so well, and it seems so different is because it is. It’s different from anything else, because of the layer of honesty and trust, because of our openness about our fears and our feelings. Because of our understanding, our compassion, our belief in each other. And she told me to trust in the relationship – the other shoe isn’t going to drop. This is really happening, it’s real – the wedding is going to happen, although it’s not “official” yet…we’re waiting. The life-smashing is right on schedule, and it gave me great comfort to realize that in two weeks, Sundays won’t suck so bad. I’ll live 10 minutes away, and as she’s said, she’ll be over all the time, even before she officially moves in. It’s just a transitional period between this and that. And it’s going to be beautiful. I want to write down everything, to keep it written out so I have a record of the feeling I feel right now. But at the same time, trying to contain it in words seems impossible…and it seems cheaper that way…I know how I feel. I know how she feels. And I’m holding onto that knowledge and that feeling.

Sunday, even after the beauty that was Saturday night, I woke up stressed out. It hits me sometimes, when I can’t control or defend myself against it. We got up, and re-acquainted ourselves with each other – sleeping for 8 hours or so makes that necessary. Then walked to Subway for breakfast, which was surprisingly good. After we ate, however…I was sick. It happens. I have periods of this kind of crap, ever since I had my gall bladder surgery where, no matter what I eat, no matter what I do, I’m just sick. Period. And It’s painful and stressful, but Devon was an angel, really. We met up with my core group of 3 at Starbucks for coffee, where Paul and Devon finally got to meet – she had already hung with Danielle and Catherine. After coffee, we all went to Tijuana Flats for lunch. In hindsight, the combo of coffee and Mexican food on an already upset stomach was probably not the smartest of ideas. But it was good, at the time. Then, not so much. We came back home and hibernated in the bedroom again, since it was cooler, and she just kept holding me, telling me it was okay, and I took a nap while she watched some tv. She even ran out for Sherbet in the late afternoon – and came back with popsicles when they didn’t have any. She’s a sweetheart. I kept apologizing – I felt guilty for ruining our Sunday by not feeling well, and she held me close the entire time, told me I was being silly – told me she was happy to be there for me, that I was human, that I was allowed to be sick, that I just needed to relax. It was the best I could have asked for, really. I finally felt well enough to take her home. We made a pit stop at one of the few remaining blockbusters, where Devon found a movie she’s been dying to make me watch in the sale bins. We got four others, too – a 5 for $20 deal. Then we drove the rest of the way to her apartment. When we pulled up, we had a mini-discussion about me staying there for the night – she didn’t want me driving if I still felt really bad, and I was welcome to stay with her. I didn’t have a work shirt in the car, and I would have had to go get one in the morning. As much as it pained me to do, I decided to just go home, with plans to come over on Thursday for SYTYCD premier night, complete with BBQ in hand. I promised to text her the second I got home, and I did. Unlike our norm, we actually talked for a bit when I got home. We were both missing each other, I think. It keeps getting stronger. That’s another thing we kept saying…how even when we think it can’t get any deeper, or any stronger, it does. It just keeps happening, even when it seems impossible. And every time I’m with her, feels like the first time, but more intense. All the time.

I guess this is the way it’s supposed to be. The way I’m supposed to feel. The signs of a healthy, equal and mutual relationship. The teasing, the laughter. We still haven’t fought. We both have had moments where our feelings have been hurt or we’ve been sensitive. But fighting? No. And I can’t really imagine what that will be like. We’ve disagreed on some things. But it happens. And as she said, late last night before bed – “I’m pretty positive that we can handle just about anything”. I’m going to trust that. I’d rather trust, and risk than not…and so far, the reward has been amazingly beautiful.

I still have so much to do for the move. I’m re-tackling the closets this evening after work. I have to take the cats to get their annual vaccines – probably next Sunday at one of the clinics that offers discount shot packages. We also have a pre-emptive Busch Gardens day in the works for either Saturday or Monday. It’s also our last weekend in my old downtown apartment, which we plan on celebrating. Then, it’s moving week, Devon’s cruise and I imagine it will be difficult and stressful but worthwhile. Then that Monday, when Devon comes back, regardless of the time, how exhausted we are etc – we will be celebrating.

More to follow, I’m sure.