Nothing I Can Do About it Now

February 14, 2007

Poke Poke

Filed under: love — dregina @ 1:52 pm

 This morning, I woke up early, just like I do every day. And then I rolled over and began poking Cristian in the ribs, which is what I always do, every morning, ever since he got here.

It’s just such a nice surprise to see him there, and poking is the only way I can really express my true feelings about it.

Cristian is so dedicated to our special morning routine that he can participate without even waking up. I start in on the poking, and he makes his wincy I’m-getting-poked-and-it’s-not-even-8-am-yet face that he makes every morning, just for me. It’s a really, really good face. It’s a shame I’m the only one who gets to see it.  He looks a little bit like a fish that has come up to the surface of the tank for some fish food, if you can imagine that.

Before I met Cristian, I thought there were lessons I needed to learn, things I needed to change within myself, in order to be in a happy, healthy, loving relationship. I worried that I might not ever strike the balance right, that maybe I just didn’t have the self-discipline and dedication necessary to keep loving the same person year after year. That love wouldn’t – couldn’t – come until I turned myself into the right kind of person. It’s a logic a lot of people subscribe to, I think, and it’s connected to one of the Great American Myths – that, with enough effort, we can control every single aspect of our lives.

Cristian actually had to get up and go to work early this morning, which is not the norm, and which always adds an unwanted layer of pathos to the poking ritual. He staggered and lurched up from the bed into the closet, only to announce that he had left his catering uniform at his apartment.

Well, shit, I said. I’ll just drive you over there on my way to work. 

And so off we went to his apartment, where he staggered and lurched about his many, many boxes, only to discover – whoops! – that his uniform was not, in actuality, at his apartment, but had been at my own apartment the entire time.

 Well, shit, I said. I’ll just drive you back to my apartment.  What can you do?

And so back we went to my apartment, where Cristian staggered and lurched about for only a few moments before finally realizing – Oh, Geez! – that his uniform was, in actual, actual actuality, at his apartment, in his hamper.

I managed to whine his name at him only once before loading his poor, tired body back into my car for a final trip to his house, where said uniform was located and donned, to fine and handsome effect.

This is what love, sans self improvement, looks like in my life. There are still piles of laundry on the carpet, moldy vegetables in the fridge. Mornings are haphazard, evenings long and lazy. I have done nothing to deserve my great good luck.

I used to believe that I could completely control my life. And I believed that I had to have that control if I wanted to love and be loved completely, successfully, with all of my heart.

Cristian? Listen carefully, because this is the only time I am ever going to say this.

Thank you for proving me wrong.

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2 Comments »

  1. I think that poking someone is the ultimate expression of love!! When hugs aren’t emphatic enough and kisses to complacent-there is nothing like a definate poke in the ribs or in the arm or persistant poke taps on the forehead a la water torture to say I really really truly ruly like you.

    Comment by Nesh — February 16, 2007 @ 12:37 pm

  2. This must be genetic. Ask Suz about Pokenstaug.

    Comment by mmalan — February 23, 2007 @ 8:30 am


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