Buttercup and I are hitting an interesting relationship phase.
We've been love-drunk for almost 6 weeks.
Six weeks is about enough time to get dangerously low on clean underwear...
To make your friends think you've drowned or gone underground....To make your boss think you've damaged your brain from huffing gas.
Yeah, 6 weeks of intoxication can take a toll on your life patterns. And while love doesn't damage your liver or kill brain cells, it does have consequences. (Some would argue, it still impairs your ability to drive or operate heavy machinery.)
So, after 6 weeks of this blissful dream state , we have lifted up our heads to see what's going on. So far, except for some hurt feelings and puzzled co-workers, things are OK. No eviction notices. No missed court dates. Nothing was neglected that can't be attended to now.
It is tough to not want to be together constantly. We've spent every night together since our second date. Logic tells me that a break would be normal, maybe even healthy.
But another part of me won't stand for that. I mean, I'd rather be with her than without her. Simple.
But we did plan to have alone time last night. To be apart. Give her a chance to regroup. Write in her journal. Do some laundry.
After talking on the phone for 30 minutes, I went over to her place.
And touching her...holding her...kissing her...was magic.
Like it always is.
Every time we're together, it is another moment in the "Life is heaven on earth" argument.
I find myself in moments with her where I step outside myself and think, "THIS is what its all about. This. This connection. This love."
To have a moment like that in a lifetime is a gift...and I feel it routinely with Buttercup. It is enough to make a man forget to do his laundry.
I now have 2 priority lists. One titled, "Buttercup." The other includes "Everything Else." And "everything else" is ALWAYS a lower priority.
I mean, I'm in love. LOVE.
That elusive thing that people write songs and movies about?
That story book place that cynical people says doesn't exist?
We're in the middle of it. Chilling on a picnic blanket. Kissing under the stars.
The good news: Its real.
The bad news: You appear like a crackhead to everyone around you.
It's a small price to pay.