Meta-meta-analysis

So, I'm frankly in a little bit of heaven here. Got laid this morning in spectacular fashion, then got on the laptop and got some work done. Taking my parents to the movies this afternoon, then catching a UFC pay-per-view with my little brother. All around good day shaping up. I'm pleased.

The Remix is nervous again. This thing is too literal, from time to time. For defensive reasons, both of us keep hedging our bets when it comes to the details. Pretending that things mean less than they do, or qualifying even a simple statement just enough so it doesn't look incriminating later on. This whole blog exercise is a perfect example. I'll say about 99% of what I think, open and unabashed. There's always something, though, always some little throw-in so that when I read this later, I can tell myself I knew what was coming. (This last sentence? Perfect fucking example.)

We're afraid to hope for too much. We've got something of a routine down, now, which would be more unsettling if we didn't both enjoy it so much. I'm sitting here, watching cigarette smoke curl around the monitor, daring to hope and simultaneously making excuses in my head. I don't even know what I'm hoping for exactly, beyond the hope that things continue being this good.

And then there's always the parent issue. They won't approve. This is a given. The best friend barely approves, he's another one who's constantly hedging the bet. The parents are different, though. I could make them see, probably. Not without changing what we've got, though, and I won't do that for anyone. I could tell them she doesn't need me as much, that she makes me so happy, that we've grown out of so much of the bad stuff. I can sell anyone anything. That's what I do. Problem is, to do it right, to make my parents comfortable, I'd have to trade so much of what we like about this. The weight of their expectations would obliterate everything we have going. To be fair to mom and pop, it's not all their fault. We were very, very bad to each other when we let go the last time. For the first, and last time, I'm going to justify this on paper. This is what I would say, if I was going to say anything at all:

We were just kids. We were so in love, then, the way kids tend to be. I wanted to change her world, and she wanted to believe in me so badly. We set ourselves up to fail, trying to so hard to be things for each other that no one should have to be. It was a failure to her every time she wasn't perfect. It was a failure to me every time I couldn't help, couldn't fix it. It was wrong, though. She never had to be perfect, she was more than I could reasonably ask for. I was unreasonable then. I didn't have to fix everything, I gave her everything I could and probably a little more. She asked for too much. Five years have passed now. We've been around the block a couple times, and now we know. That's our dirty little secret. She knows what it's like to really not be perfect. I know what it's like to really try too hard. And we both know what it's like when it's not as good as it could be. We've got something good. This time, we both know how good. That, regardless of what happens, makes this worth another shot. We wouldn't be here, without all that history. We had to blow up, had to go our own way, had to find out what we wanted from life independent of what we wanted from each other. Now we know. Now we're making the relationship fit ourselves, not the other way around. Now we know.