heidikins.com

A case for Elementary Algebra

Don’t worry, you won’t be required to solve for x or y to understand this post.

Several months ago I finally read the all-time classic novel, Lolita (see my review here) and on the back cover there is a quote praising this novel as the greatest love story of the 20th century. Alright, that particular reviewer must have had some sort of twisted love saga of his own to place an obsessive, one-way, destructive and abusive relationship as the “greatest love story” of the century.  Humbert Humbert, the sick antagonist in Lolita, is too selfish and sociopathic to truly love anyone else.

What is love? How is it defined? Who makes the rules and how do you know if you are in it, out of it, or somewhere in-between? When I was in junior high school my One True Love didn’t know I existed; I was obsessed with his dark brown eyes and the way his hair was perfectly disheveled. I doodled his initials on my algebra homework and looked at his picture in my yearbook every night before I went to sleep. I was convinced that he was My One and Only and that life would not be complete without seeing him at his locker in-between English and Debate. Surprisingly, I have no idea what happened to my 8th grade obsession.

As I moved into college I actually talked to the boys I had crushes on, and would even go so far as to date them. My first boyfriend turned out to be cute, with a fast car and a new townhouse -but seriously deranged and emotionally withholding. I moved up from there; at least for a while. Although sooner or later I found myself in a completely abusive, destructive marriage. How did I end up there? Granted, there were a LOT of factors going into that relationship that I don’t have the time or energy to discuss right now; the short story is, after months of therapy I came to the conclusion that I would rather be single than in an unhealthy relationship. 

All that being said; I have somehow found myself decidedly un-single and in the healthiest relationship of my life. I don’t feel like I did anything to warrant such a lucky find as Handsome; but here I am, having waffles for breakfast (made by a Handsome Chef, and includes home-made syrup) and watching the evening news with the most amazing man I’ve ever met and happier than I have ever been. The things that are important now have very little resemblance with my junior high crush; I’m still a sucker for brown eyes, but I have traded be-doodled algebra homework for hour-long conversations about politics or psychology. The million little daily things add up to a type of twitterpatedness that I can hardly describe; the bouquet of daisies, the text message secretly sent in the middle of our dinner-date, just to tell me he is thinking about me, the butterfly kisses, the slow dancing in the kitchen (oh. my. goodness! most romantic moment of my life!)…

How did I get here? Where did he come from?  What kind of relationship diety did I impress?  Because truly, meeting Handsome was not a random coincidence.  We met at a wedding reception, his younger brother married one of my girlfriends; so while it may seem like a coincidence, I honestly think there is more to it than that.  He is everything I always thought never existed; and I still get goosebumps and butterflies in my stomach when he holds me close and softly kisses me.  I feel googly during a movie when the light from the screen outlines his profile next to me.  My heart usually skips a beat when, not two steps out of my building, he reaches for my hand.  I love to curl up next to him with my head on his chest, listen to his heart beat and try and match the rhythm of his breathing.  I am overwhelmed by the feelings that come bubbling up when I think about Handsome and how much my outlook on life, love and relationships has changed in the five months that we have been together.

This morning at o-dark-hundred -that’s about 5:00 for those of you unaware of military-heidikins-speak- I took Handsome to the airport (AND made it home without getting squnched.  Operation Thursday: Success!), he’s out of town until Sunday night and while I realize it hasn’t even been 6 hours yet, I miss him. 

Handsome, I miss you.  That’s all.  Love, heidikins

When you find yourself separatedfrom your sweetheart, how do you cope?  I realize that with my history I should be an expert at this (anyone remember those days of hopping on a plane every other weekend to see a boy?), but somehow, this is different.  I miss Handsome five minutes after he walks out my door; I miss him when we are in the same room; I miss him when we are snuggled up together.  I just can’t seem to get enough of him and the idea that he is so far away makes my throat get tight and my heart sting a little.  I am trying not to make myself a countdown of hours (or minutes) until I pick him up from the airport…although admittedly, even just announcing that made my brain do some quick math and now I have a pretty good idea of how many hours until I can wrap my arms around him, but to prevent you throwing up on your screen I’ll keep that number to myself.  You’re welcome.

…I’m sorry, do you recognize that girl?  The one who wrote that last paragraph?  Because to be honest, I don’t so much.  Ms. Independent has calculated the exact number of hours (and my brain has now supplied me with the minutes, thank you Mrs. S. and your secrets to solving Big Multiplication Problems) until she sees Mr. Handsome again.  I guess that old saying is true; you really will use Algebra in your adult life.  Oh, and that other saying is also true; something about love changing you, softening you, turning you into a puddle, and will constantly remind you (the Love Victim) that you have never been happier in your entire life.

17 Comments so far
Leave a comment