Marshmellow Fluff

I spent the better part of this weekend in a coma on the couch.  The week had reduced me to a useless blob and instead of joining the productive class of society, I decided to watch movies.  Which, for me is a very rare occasion.  Paul can partake in marathons worth of couch time.  Even on the sunniest Saturday he is fine with pulling the blinds and watching whatever old movie marathons TNT decides to play that weekend.  As for me, just the thought of spending a weekend indoors on the couch is too EMO. But, in a lapse of good judgement I watched depressing love story movies.  Which, from experience I should know better than to do.  Rewind to a few years ago, when I spent Sunday watching Annie Hall with the guy I was dating.  Now, if you have seen the movie it is focused around a love story between two people who just can’t seem to stay in love.  Plagued by bad timing they seem to always cross paths but never stay lovers.  By the time he left I had a pit in my stomach and it took every ounce of restraint for me not to grab onto his leg and beg him to never ever leave my side ever.  But he did leave that day, and a few months later he left for good.

This weekend, I watched Dear John, a tale about two young people who fall in love.  He goes off to war, leaves her behind, she marries another and he re-enlists.  The better part of this movie is spent focusing on how their love is so parallel yet their timing is so off.  It made me think about how love has a lot to do with timing. In high school, I dated someone for 5 years. He was cute, two years ahead of me and my first love. Like most high schoolers do, we broke up every week, fought constantly – but were undeniably in love with one another.   Our love was torrid, dramatic and filled with emotion.  I broke up with him my junior year and in that two weeks he joined the Army.  And so began our long distance love story.  We would write passionate and naive love letters to one another, I would wait by the phone for him to call when he could and we savored the weekends he was home on leave. But there was that troublesome timing.  I was 14 when we started dating, terrified of the thought of marriage but mostly terrified I didn’t know myself well enough to be someone else’s “everything”.  So, we broke up. Years later he got married and had children and I was still bouncing from one relationship to the next, and sometimes I would convince myself my inability to find “the one” was the penance I paid for breaking his heart.

After our relationship ended, I became a serial monogomist.  So much so, that one Thanksgiving the place card at the table just read, “boyfriend”.  I dated co-workers, friends of friends, a guy in a band. The only thing they all had in common was that each of them had nothing in common.  There was one thing however, that was constant…deep down I knew each of them wasn’t the one.  Sure, I talked marriage with some of them.  Sure, I played along when people asked me if I thought “he was it”.  I was good at playing the part.  It was easy to convince myself I was with someone I could see myself spending forever with, because there were no impending proposals on the horizon so I was able to play the part with no fear of consequences. But, when things became too intense, like the time an ex-boyfriend moved back home from New Jersey to give our relationship another shot, it didn’t take long before his hugs began to feel like a vice around my lungs.  In my mind, I was convinced him moving back to California meant my search for love was over but reality caught up to my movie ending and in the end I left him.

And then, after all these years of broken hearts and hopeless moments, time was finally on my side.  I found a love that is simple, one I know will stand the test of time.  I found the first person whom I accept wholly for all his faults and flaws because to me, he is still perfect.  I don’t care that he prefers Mountain Dew to water.  I can overlook the fact that he leaves coffee cups and empty soda bottles out.  I don’t even mind that sometimes on sunny weekends, he prefers to pull the blinds and veg on the couch.  I don’t mind these things because of the way I feel when he holds my hand.  Because he knows I sneeze three times in a row.  Because he flew my best friend out from St. Louis to surprise me.  Because he loves his family and because his family is amazing.  Because he makes me laugh.  Because he never judges me. Because he goes to the store to get me a Diet Coke late at night when I can think of nothing else but a Diet Coke.  Because he is honest and good. Because I respect him and believe in him. Because he understand me and supports me.  Because he believes in me and all my silly dreams.  Because he is my best friend. And even though he kept me up most of last night with his snoring, I am still undeniably in love him, which is good because it is about fricking time!