It was my full intent to write this evening about the Minnesota Opera's production of Cosi Fan Tutte, but unfortunately for you, my mind is elsewhere. The show was good, and I'd love to discuss the disturbing staging choices that were less funny and instead made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, but instead my mind is focused on the company I held this weekend.
As you are probably aware, Mr. Sturm accompanied me to the opera, but he also watched a movie with me Friday night, went for a walk with me on Saturday afternoon, and his whole family came over for the experimental trial run of the outdoor oven today. If mushy things make you want to barf, you should probably stop reading, or maybe get a bucket or garbage can closer to you.
At one point over the weekend, we were all curled up, snuggling, talking about this and that, and I was getting more and more tired. When Mr. Sturm informed me that it was late, and time to get up, I glanced at my watch. I certainly didn't disagree. It was late, and I was half asleep as it was. Still, I kind of ignored him the first time.
So we talked a while longer, and when the end of our time was mentioned again, I couldn't deny it, and I had already ignored the first warning, so I gave him a sleepy, "Mm-hmm."
"I know that 'mm-hmm'," he told me.
The smile on his face and the tone of voice he used as he gave me a quick squeeze took me a little off guard. I loved the way he responded to my sleepy "mm-hmm". Needless to say, it made me want to let go even less.
Numerous times over the last year I have referenced how living by myself has made me weirder and weirder. Without a roommate, significant other, or family members to keep me in check, I've really developed some bizarre habits, and I've kind of let my crazy run free. I might have the coffee table a mess, but every day the piano books are stacked exactly right when I'm done playing. I might not make my bed, but all the bottles and containers in the shower go in certain spots. I may wear real clothes to work, but I rarely wear all the clothes one would require to be seen by another person when at home. I eat food off the floor, sing out of key at the top of my lungs, have ice cream for breakfast, eat two dinners, hit the snooze button three times, and leave books on every surface in the apartment. I talk to myself, dance around, make weird faces, use the stove top to go through important paperwork, and can dirty every mug in the cupboard somehow.
So far, he has not been phased by anything, but I often wonder what the tipping point would be? I am not a good liar, and I am a pretty open person. Honestly, he makes me very comfortable and I am myself around him. I guess I'm not worried that he'll discover that I'm a weirdo. I'm more worried that I'm not so worried about it.
But for now, I'm going to continue enjoying this feeling of contentment and daydream about that smile.
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