IT'S MARCH!!!

Sorry, had to get that out of my system. January and February are hard months for me-- If that whole "Seasonal Affective Disorder" isn't a complete crock of shit, then I'm pretty sure I have it. My Mum does too, so growing up we always popped in plant lights all over the house each winter to counteract the lack of sunlight. But March, oh March. A lot of people hate March the most, because it feels like spring should be.. er.. springing, but New England doesn't see truly nice weather until at least April, aside from the occasional fluke day here and there. "In like a lion, out like a lamb," is really quite accurate here. But for me, March is a promise. The promise that I don't have to endure the long cold winter again for the better part of the year. When I was a little girl, my grandmother always told me that the crocus was the first flower of spring-- a hint of what's to come. March means keeping my eyes glued to the ground, hoping to see that first little resilliant bud poking it's way out of the defrosting ground.

Shit, I'm in a good mood today. Sun shining, birds singing, all that crap. This past week was great-- Not seeing my Boy for three weeks sucked, but getting a week of virtually uninterrupted time together was great. Sure that first day back always reminds me how much I hate this scenario, how much I hate missing him all the damn time, how much I hate having to leave...

...how much I wish things could be different sooner than they probably will be. Ah, isn't that the issue du'jour... just about every "jour" for me. One afternoon last week we were sitting in a bar, having a drink, and the subject of housing came up. Not in reference to us, of course... My Boy was saying how after break he wanted to get started on finding housing for next year, though he won't be out of his current place until summer. Anyway, he wants to live with a friend of his who also has a girlfriend, and it seems to be fairly obvious to everyone but My Boy that there is a very good chance his friend will simply end up living with his girlfriend instead. He said something (jokingly?)to the effect of trying to talk his friend out of it and the words just boiled up out of my subconcious and leapt out of my mouth before I even knew what was happening.

"Yeah, well maybe that's what he wants. Not everyone wants to be a grumpy old confirmed bachelor like you."

For a split second, he looked like he had been slapped-- shock, hurt, and maybe even anger, and you'd miss it if you blinked. He looked away.

"It doesn't mean you want to be a confirmed bachelor just because you aren't ready to move in with your girlfriend."

And I know that.
I do. I know that we come from to vastly different levels of relationship experience. I've been through an equal share of flings, dead-end relationships, and serious ones. I've lived with a boyfriend before. I've been through enough of the spectrum to know now what I want and what I don't. What I'm ready for. Or for, that matter, what I'm not ready for, but am willing to take a chance on because it's apparently ready for me. I'm much more willing to take risks, because I've lived enough to know when something is a waste of time, and when it's something to sit up and take notice of. Those ones that make you sit up and take notice? They don't come around often. This much I've learned. And I'm not sure he has. And part of being with my Boy has always been that challenge. He doesn't have a vast amount of experience with relationships, or (as he puts it) "how to be a boyfriend." I know that he needs to move at a much slower pace than I do, and that's something I have accepted as part of being with him-- that even if it can be frustrating, that it's ultimately worth it.

But it doesn't mean I have to like it.

I never held out more than the tiniest little girl-fantasy that he'd want to be living with me next year instead of his boys. I let myself indulge in the occasional romantic daydream.. but when it comes down to it, I'm nothing if not realistic. We haven't even approached the subject of my considering moving up there and living by myself or with girls I know... and that's really a subject for another time. Truthfully, it's something that I need to think about a lot, because it's a big decision. Another day, another day....

What it boils down to, really, is fear. Under the right circumstances, I could live two hours away for as long as we needed to live this way and make it work and be happy. I think the reason this whole thing bothers me as much as it does is because I'm afriad. I'm afriad of what it might mean if he tells me he's perfectly content with me living two hours away. I'm afraid that one day he'll just decide to pick up and move to Chicago or Georgia or Alaska out of the blue, and I won't be a consideration. I'm afraid I'm too attached for not being entirely sure what I mean to him. I'm afraid of getting my heart broken. But I'm still here. Because, at the end of the day, every little mannerism that tickles me, every off-hand remark that makes me laugh so hard I cry, every moment of silly male posturing, every time he cracks a joke in a crowd and looks to see if I'm laughing, every spirited debate that makes me want to beat him with my purse, every morning that I get to feel him all warm and sleepy beside me... That's the stuff that makes it all worthwile. That's the stuff that makes you want to overcome obstacles. That's the stuff you wait for.

And with the ones who make you sit up and take notice?
It always come down to that.