Being with someone is a very strange thing. You really have to feel like their company is worth the compromise, because when you’re with another person, sharing is the theme of the day, every day.
Every moment, of every day.
You share your cereal with the person, the dessert you picked up on the way home, the glass of water they said they didn’t want but now they do. The rye bread in the bread basket.
But you also have to share how you feel about everything. And just when you think you’ve shared it all, you quickly realize even everything isn’t enough. No, your partner wants you to air your insides like a wet t-shirt or a fluffy carpet hung to dry.
But even that’s not enough. Then, they want to watch you meticulously fan your insides in the hot hours of the day, until they’re smooth and in their proper place again.
Being with someone is really exhausting. But is it worth it?
I say this because I’ve been with Eleanor for a while now, the woman who lives across the hall. You know, she’s 25 years old, an aspiring artist, and she made me a miniature painting of that time we got high. It hangs on the wall beside my bed.
But by “been with” Eleanor, I do mean that I’ve been hanging out with her a ton. Like, we’re spending a lot of quality time in one another’s presence without uttering those four precious words:
What are we doing?
And it’s a good question, because I really don’t know. The day will arrive, oh yes, when the question must be answered. But for now…
I like getting bagels on Sundays with her, sharing my writing with her, teaching her things about bank accounts and stocks that I, too, knew nothing about at 25. I like watching some aimless independent film she picks out on Netflix. I like watching her eat tacos.
There’s something very easy and quaint and almost college about the whole thing because it’s just so convenient. If I told my parents about it, they’d likely say, “Oh, Dougie. When are you gonna grow up?”
But what’s wrong with convenience? With a tilt in perspective and a shedding of cyncism, convenience can simply be “coincidence.”
When do you know when it’s comfort or more?
thesaintgermain 