7am together

7am together

The fog rolls in at 7am. At first it’s far away, vague, “what is this?” You become wary, uneasy, because it is coming towards you rather fast and from all sides. Oh dear. Before you know it, it’s all around you and you can’t see two feet in front of you. You’re not sure where you are and if you take a step in the wrong direction, you might fall off a cliff.

7am and my heart is pounding. It pulls me awake, like someone poking me and very politely reminding me that I have to be on stage in front of thousands of people in five minutes to give a speech about the socializing habits of penguins — something I’m sure I am extremely unqualified to discuss. I’m sweating and icky and uncomfortable. My chest is tight and I’m shaking inside.

It’s not the first time, of course. The first time was much scarier. By now it’s more of a bother than anything else. Not this again, I’m tired, I was hoping to sleep well tonight.

When I come back from the restroom and stumble into bed, my partner stirs. “Are you having trouble sleeping again?” In his gentlest, most caring, slightly sleepy voice. So I tell him all about the fog. I tell him it’s okay and it’ll pass eventually, but that’s not good enough for him.

“I want to help,” he says. “I want to help.”

He strokes my stomach and even though I am barely aware of the touch, even though I can’t see through the fog, it makes me happy. How about that? I didn’t use to think panic attacks and joy could occur at the same time. But they can. They can and at 7am that day, they do.

7am is very early for us night owls. We may have gone to bed at 3 or 4.

He offers to make me some tea. My partner. And that’s what he does. We both get up and I sit on the couch while he goes into the kitchen and brews me a peppermint.

“Do you think you’ll be able to go back to sleep? You seem pretty awake.”

No, I won’t be able to go back to sleep. It’s too late and too early at the same time.

And then to my surprise, well, no, not surprise. It’s more like an emotional realization. And then to my emotional realization, he pours himself some cereal, turns on the PS4, and sits with me.

At 7am, both exhausted, we play games and have tea and cereal together. He could go back to sleep. It’s obvious. But he doesn’t. Willingly, he lets himself feel a bit worse so that I can feel a bit better.

That.

That is love.

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Go the distance

Good mooooooorning 2017!

Wotcher, everyone! So. I’ve disappeared from the blogosphere for about a month. How have you been? This is going to be freestyle, from me to you, no fancy stuff. Also, I’m writing this in bed at 1.23 in the morning, on my iPhone, with Betty looking over my shoulder. Say hi to Betty.

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So there.

I have had good reason to disappear, though, and I bring back some amazing news. My wonderful partner is here with me, in the little nest I’ve been building for us in our little corner of Canada since September. Okay, so it’s amazing news for me. Deal with it.

Our story began in the summer of 2014, when we came across each other on the amazing forums of asexuality.org (which is not, repeat not, a dating site, because they have minors on here and can’t monitor every… whoops). We talked and talked about everything and it turns out that’s how you tend to fall in love with people. Well, that’s how *I* tend to fall in love with people anyway.

Some people will swear to you that long distance relationships never work out. That’s because some people conflate the impossibility of a long distance relationship *for them* with a scientific, all-encompassing-applies-to-me-so-it-must-apply-to-everything sort of truth.

I’m sure it wouldn’t work for everyone. Maybe the fact that we are both asexual makes it easier for us to go fifteen months without touching each other. Whatever the reasons, it worked for us.

Which does not mean it was easy every day. Sometimes it was really hard not to be able to hug or hold hands or just give each other a reassuring pat on the arm.

Sometimes people would dismiss our relationship. It’s not serious, they haven’t even met yet. It’s not serious, they’ve only spent two weeks together. You don’t really know anything about him until you’ve met him in the flesh.

Phil and I have been together for two years and four months. But as far as some people are concerned, Phil and I have been together for six weeks.

As far as I’m concerned, though, there is nothing I would change about how our relationship started out and blossomed. I wouldn’t change the distance. I wouldn’t change the online chats. They are part of us now and they made us, a couple of introverts, into Us: a Couple of Introverts.

But, while I wouldn’t change anything, the time had come to live together for a significant amount of time. So on December 3rd, I picked up my fiancĂ© at the airport (funny story, that, but not for tonight) and we went home together.

So there you have it. This is my excuse for abandoning you for a month. A jolly good excuse, too, if you ask me.

However, this isn’t an end to anything. This is a new start, for a new year. And in keeping with the spirit of the season, I would like to commit to more writing, more blogging, and hopefully less lonely nights.

Much love and season’s greetings, my lovelies.