Please give me the strength to not choke the people who hoard details
I am a detail oriented person. I can operate under the crappiest of situations and can come through unscathed if and only if, I have all the details of the cluster-boink to come, in my arsenal beforehand. My guy, of course, does not share in my need for details beforehand disposition. He’s one big believer of the need to know basis, and the one most assuredly to be successful in rendering me insane before I see 40. Many have tried over the years but I have my money on the long shot.
My ADHD has made me a junkie for routines and schedules
Despite my ADHD struggles, my inability to live anywhere but in the moment, and my suffering from chronic nearsightedness with regards to the think long term department, having a routine is important to me. It’s my security blanket. Routine =structure and structure = a much more easy to get along with CeeLee. My guy knows this better than most and that’s how I know he’s plotting my demise.
You want details? Do you? Nope! Denied!
I must be fortified with a detail injection on the daily, with no real surprises. Only then will I be flexible enough to roll with the punches that follow me. For someone who’s life is lived under the firm rule of Murphy’s Law and day is structured around those pesky deets, I’m forever after obtaining just the facts.
It tickles the redneck to no end, watching me tear my hair out after throwing me an oh by the way. That’s the easiest way to drive a certain CeeLee wacko. Case in point? Today’s post. For future reference, I like roses. You know, for the funeral. I think he prefers NasCar symbols for his, but that could change any moment now.
It wasn’t all that long ago that I (thought) had my course in life all plotted out. I’ve always followed my gut and while it’s been hit or miss, I tend to trust that more than anything (tech) else. My own inner nav, so to speak, is (was) much more reliable than even the scarily sophisticated and intimidating, onboard GPS nav belonging to that of my car. Or so I thought.
“And the Gold medal in Olympic style mental knot tying category goes to…”
It starts simply enough, it always does. That’s why I’m always taken unaware, lulled into thinking erroneously of course, that The Gap as I call it, between the 2 adult perceptions, was on temporary vacation this past weekend. To hear him talk about it, I’m a she devil and he’s a…guy, doing guy things. I’m not saying he’s wrong, but…my point is how easy it is to hear what you want to hear in relationships and how easy it is to become angry over what doesn’t matter. Both sides of this are exaggerated. Well…some of it. Continue reading I Said, He Heard, And The Gap→
I was musing aloud about the average shelf life the ‘spark’ in a relationship has. My conclusion was that no matter how good you are, or the things you might do to try to break up the routine, unless you tend to be a swing from the chandelier type of couple, that spark does have a shelf life. “Relationships come in stages,” said my other half who isn’t known for waxing poetic. Shooting from the hip, being blunt, a straight shooter, those things, oh yeah, but not for this, I was shocked into utter silence.
“The exploration comes first”
“Relationships have stages,” he said slowly, “The first 3 years is the exploration of the other. That’s when both people are figuring out whether they can live together and not kill each other, and are making sure there are no hidden skeletons or random psychotic tendencies that are going to surprise them before they choose to move further. Building trust”. I was trying to replace the hinge on my jaw, so he continued. Cautiously. Continue reading Relationships And The Shelf Life Of Sparks→