Manolo sometimes forgets to keep in touch. Especially if he's out riding, sending a text to let me know where he is or when he's back doesn't always occur to him. Sometimes there is no network where he is.
I like checking in. My routine is far more set than his (I'm also far more lazy), and I like telling him where I am and what I'm doing. And I'd like the same in return.
When it doesn't happen, I throw tantrums. Tears flow, angry words are exchanged (apologetic in his case), drama ensues.
Now, severe and hysterical analysis could see this as a sign. He doesn't really care. I'm over-possessive. I must give him space. He must adjust. I've read so many of those articles I could write a thesis on their predictability.
Instead, I've started to find it funny. Not weird funny. Just the sort of wry humour that makes you realise your flair for drama and that he's not being a jerk. Because the messages do come. Sometimes I don't even have to act wounded and ignored for them to come. And he hasn't forgotten me. He makes sure I remember that.
Neither does he expect to know exactly where I am or what I'm doing. Unless I'm travelling, he's perfectly content to let me do whatever I want. Nobody has to account for their time. (Of course sometimes I wish he was a LEETLE more possessive :D)
I told a friend the other day, 'Don't treat love like the G8 Summit.' It's just as important, but with a lot more laughs. Laugh when you've called him at some obscene hour of the night to talk dirty, and he grunts three times and falls back asleep. When you're getting drunk together and you try to kiss him and end up bumping noses too hard.
Laugh when he smells your hair and asks if it's Head & Shoulders. When a romantic dinner is butter chicken and beer rather than wine and handmade pasta.
Romance is in the near-hits and misses. In the arguments. In being drastically different from one another. In sharing truly disgusting jokes.
And laughter is as affectionate as holding hands.
I like checking in. My routine is far more set than his (I'm also far more lazy), and I like telling him where I am and what I'm doing. And I'd like the same in return.
When it doesn't happen, I throw tantrums. Tears flow, angry words are exchanged (apologetic in his case), drama ensues.
Now, severe and hysterical analysis could see this as a sign. He doesn't really care. I'm over-possessive. I must give him space. He must adjust. I've read so many of those articles I could write a thesis on their predictability.
Instead, I've started to find it funny. Not weird funny. Just the sort of wry humour that makes you realise your flair for drama and that he's not being a jerk. Because the messages do come. Sometimes I don't even have to act wounded and ignored for them to come. And he hasn't forgotten me. He makes sure I remember that.
Neither does he expect to know exactly where I am or what I'm doing. Unless I'm travelling, he's perfectly content to let me do whatever I want. Nobody has to account for their time. (Of course sometimes I wish he was a LEETLE more possessive :D)
I told a friend the other day, 'Don't treat love like the G8 Summit.' It's just as important, but with a lot more laughs. Laugh when you've called him at some obscene hour of the night to talk dirty, and he grunts three times and falls back asleep. When you're getting drunk together and you try to kiss him and end up bumping noses too hard.
Laugh when he smells your hair and asks if it's Head & Shoulders. When a romantic dinner is butter chicken and beer rather than wine and handmade pasta.
Romance is in the near-hits and misses. In the arguments. In being drastically different from one another. In sharing truly disgusting jokes.
And laughter is as affectionate as holding hands.
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