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Monday, November 02, 2015

Best if sold by...

After having a significant other disappear on me with no explanation, the thought of having a relationship with an expiration date seemed like it might be a good idea. I wasn’t looking for anything serious, because I wasn’t positive that I wouldn’t completely change course if the dysfunction came back knocking. (I know that sounds horrible, but if I start lying on my blog I might as well pack it up and go home.)

So, enter the adorable, charming, smarter-than-smart guy who needed someone to show him around for a few months while he was here on a special assignment from work – work that is normally 2,200 miles away in California. (And I’m not going to say where he works, mostly because they make it very easy to search for things on the Internet. But they may or may not be the people who power this blog.)

You know I love showing people around Nashville, so I am sure that is part of the reason that I decided to swipe right (remind me we need to talk about this swiping right absurdity). After having a few months of wondering how I got so lucky with the swiping, I went back and looked at his profile and I remember thinking that he was my age and liking the picture of him and his kids, although they are pretty much grown now.

I didn’t think he liked me at first. I’m pretty sure he is a genius, and hanging out with an actual genius makes me realize that while I am smarter than the average bear, I am not smart when the only other person in the room is actually the smartest person I have ever met. But, for some reason he allowed me to keep dragging him around town, and the next thing you know it’s been a couple of months.

And, just today, I realized the concept of a relationship with a known expiration date is the shittiest thing ever. Because all of a sudden, months went to being days and literally now I can probably count the hours that I get to spend with him. And that sucks, partly because there are things I know we probably won’t get to do (like having breakfast at the Loveless Café and then taking a leisurely ride on the Natchez Trace or him teaching me how to play his new video game that he’s been super excited about since the day he got it), and partly because he’ll go back to his exciting life in tech-land, and I’ll go back to my parade of deadbeats and fuckwits. 

Let’s all be honest here. None of us think that lightning will strike twice. The chances of me finding someone who can keep up with me intellectually, is actually more progressive than I am, does OK for himself, is dead sexy without even trying and takes care of me (but not in a non-feminist way, because he is a way bigger feminist than I am, which I found out when I went on my bossy vs. leaning in tirade the other morning. I’m OK with being bossy, by the way.) are pretty slim. I don’t even know where you would find one of these people here unless they have been sent here on a special assignment from somewhere else.

Of course, part of me wonders if the reason he’s so awesome is because there is an expiration date. Maybe he’s being nice because he knows he only has to put up with me for a few months, and it’s in small doses. Whatever it is, I’m having a hell of a time, and I’m doing my damnedest to keep it together when I think about the sand in the hourglass slipping away at what seems like a very rapid clip. A few weeks ago he told me he was going to be a little sad when he left. The closer it gets, the less little the sad gets for me. I’m trying to figure out how to steal a few more seconds and minutes, just a couple of grains of sand here and there. 

Actually, now that I am trying to gain a little nerd cred, I really wish I had some sort of time machine. Perhaps I could find a DeLorean, although I’ve always been a fan of the TARDIS, even though you’re apparently not supposed to call the guy Dr. Who. Seriously, how was I supposed to know that? I did accidentally watch the SyFy channel all on my own yesterday, and I feel like that earns me 26 million points if we are keeping score. (And he probably is keeping score because he's a gamer with a highly competitive streak.)

As I was crying this morning, one of my friends pointed out that nothing in life is guaranteed. We aren’t promised another second with anyone. And I guess that’s true, and probably the best way to think about it. No one knows what tomorrow brings, but you’ve all been here long enough to know that I sure as hell like to worry about it.

If nothing else, spending time with him meant that I missed that 11:45 p.m. message that could have only been one thing (Sidebar: it’s funny; he works for the company that is a major reason that we’re all super connected and have the attention span of gnats, and I very rarely look at my phone with him; at least I’m not wasting our time together, although today I’ve kind of wished I’d stuffed a few more things in here and there). And, he keeps getting after me to finish my half-written novel, so maybe that’s what ends up coming out of this. I’m working a lot less because he mentioned he only saw me once a week, and I realized that wasn’t just someone being controlling and not trusting of me. And every single minute we’ve spent together has been a treasure. This is probably exactly what I needed after the machismo. I hope, just a little bit, that I’ve somehow made a positive impact on his life, but I think that’s probably just wishful thinking.

And who knows, maybe I’ll celebrate finishing my book with a trip to the land of wine, Ghiradelli chocolates and cable cars. Finishing the book is actually just ahead of “Go to Napa” on the bucket list anyhow.