Last Wednesday marked the day, five years ago, that Jimi met my eyes across the bar table and said, "I'm still prettier than you"...and I had no idea what the strange hairy man was talking about. (He was referencing a conversation we'd had the previous week, one which I still only vaguely recall.) We finished the evening making out in his truck for nearly 4 hours, before he drove me home and dropped me off with a kiss and a promise to call the next day. He called, and the rest, as they say, is history. I knew it was the beginning of something wonderful, but I don't think I was capable of imagining how good it was really going to get. How lucky are we?
There's a lot of love in my home. It's like this living breathing thing is here with us - filling the space between us, making us aware of each other and our individual needs maybe just a little more than usual. We're working together, communicating deep thoughts, touching, kissing, loving...it's like things are new, but better, because everything is familiar and comfortable.
"When you have everything / You have everything to lose"
That line goes through my head a lot. I used to tell Jimi that he was so good, I was waiting for the other shoe to drop - for him to have a drug problem or owe someone a million dollars or have a secret hoard of ex-wifes and baby-mamas; he would get mad and be all "what the fuck, Natalie?" I don't feel that way anymore, I know better - but I still feel like i'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. I'm terrified it's all going to be swept away from me.
It's ridiculous. I try really hard not to think about it at all. But it's there, niggling in the back of my mind, saying, "What have you done to deserve all of this good fortune - surely something horrible is on its way. You can't possibly have it this good when so many who are so much better have it so much worse."
Maybe that's part of why I don't blog much when I'm extra happy - I don't want to tempt fate. Maybe I fear it's tacky to talk about how my job is busy but great, and Jimi just got another bonus, and we've had the best sex lately, and my kitchen is clean, and I've made dinner three times in three night and that makes me feel like a super fucking betty crocker housewife queen. Maybe I'm afraid that if I tell the world about all of that, I'll wake up in the morning and...
what I'm afraid to write is that I'm afraid Jimi will die. I typed "...I'll wake up in the morning and Jimi won't love me anymore", but I deleted that, because that's one fear that never enters my mind - unless his mind is taken from him, I'm secure in the knowledge that his heart belongs to me. My fear is that it'll stop beating.
So there you have it. When I'm crazy stupid happy head-over-heels feelin' like life is the best thing ever, in the back of my mind I'm terrified that if I enjoy it too much, if I write about it too much, that it'll all be taken away from me in the form of my beloved dying some crazy untimely death.
To be fair, I'm always terrified that my parents are going to die, too, and my brother, but my world would be irreparably shattered if something happened to Jimi.
This is not normal, is it? It's fucked up and weird, I'm certain. Now I want to backpedal and say that I don't think about this shit all the time, and it's true, I don't. It's a dark corner in the back of my mind...one that's probably best left un-talked-about, but I've already written all these words, I'm not deleting them now. Whatevs.
All I can do is enjoy what I've got. I'm trying real hard to convince myself that unabashed shameless joy is completely fine, and not some form of Russian roulette with fate.