Who doesn't like cake?

So the Remix wants me to run the Turkey Trot with her in Chicago this Thanksgiving. I’m game, although not much of a runner. (Guys like me only run if there’s an italian beef ahead of them or an angry buffet owner behind, as a general rule.) She’s surprised, as per the norm, that I’m willing to do something so far out of my comfort zone, just to make her happy. That’s the key, I suppose, the just to make her happy part. If it was that, and that alone, I wouldn’t go anywhere near it.

That’s one of the crazy things about this, really, the propensity to do things to make her happy coupled with the realization that it makes me happy too. Apple picking, Nip/Tuck, running…all things I could catch some grief over from the boys at work, the little brother, any other redblooded male, right? But not one of them solely her idea, not one of them requires any coercion, and not one of them has caused me any pain. (Ok, the runnning will almost certainly cause me pain, but not in a bad way.)

I think the willingness to get away from my own sphere is partly her fault, too, but not in the way you’d think. When we broke up, way back when, I at first considered it to be all her fault, as usually happens with a breakup. Then I thought it was all my fault, for a long time. Some time (quite a bit of time, really) later, I realized that it was both of our faults, and none. One of the things I figured out for sure was just my problem was my selfishness with my time. Oh, we spent plenty of time together, for certain. The selfishness manifested in the ways we spent time together; or perhaps more importantly, the ways I spent my time when we weren’t together. See, I thought I could give her the garbage time, the late nights and weekend mornings, and still spend the “important” time doing my own things. Hanging out with my friends, drinking, playing video games until 3am—the things a normal 18 year old is wont to do. Unfortunately for both of us, we just don’t work that way.

Now, she gets the best of my time, She’s the one I want to be with on Friday nights and Sunday afternoons, she’s the one I want to take to the movies when something good comes out, and she’s the one I want to talk to most every night before I fall asleep. It’s so easy to understand, now, that I don’t see how I could have missed it the first time. I’m going to spend the night in some podunk Central Illinois town tomorrow, playing poker and swilling beer with some work friends. I’m still glad I’m free to do this kind of stuff—but I’d be a jittery wreck if I didn’t know I was going to see her tonight and kiss her goodbye when I leave in the morning. She’s first priority. No questions asked. The other stuff is just icing, my girl (she’ll be pleased by this comparison, I’m almost positive) is definitely the cake.