That's the way it crumbles...Cookie-wise.

It has been a very strange week, thus far. A coworker put me in an awkward situation on Tuesday, one that I'll refrain from writing about, since I read this at work from time to time and would really hate for it to become an issue. (Praticing some decorum, new for me.)

The Remix wrote today about how frustrating her life can be, lugging a duffel bag full of wrinkle-proof clothes around because she's always coming here. I can sympathize, I've even been there before, been the one who has to travel, who's never home, who has to choose between waking up in a strange bed and waking up alone. I didn't mean to put her in this position, and as far as I'm concerned, it's easily remedied. I've always been willing to go to her, to be where she lives, to make it easier. I'm willing to do more, if necessary. I'd like her to move in, sooner than later, if that's what she wants. I'd like there to be no travel, no conditions, no concessions involved in our spending time together.

I told her tonight as we were talking about this that this may just be the phase of the relationship where boundaries take center stage again. We've gotten comfortable together--not complacent, just familiar. There's still passion and laughter and cuddling and love, with plenty to spare. I think every relationship has this point, though, the point where precedents have begun to be set, consciously or not, and you have to scramble to make sure the ones that you don't like don't make that deadly switch from precedent to expectation. It's a good thing, honestly. Her frustration is apparent, but at least we're talking about it in the pre 800lb gorilla stage. It's more a capuchin monkey, or possibly a small chimp, and that's pretty manageable.

I say all of the above rationally, and without doubt. I say all of the below fearfully. Because it's also scary. She assures me that it's not me, that it's not too much time together that's the problem, and I trust her. The fear is there, though. A tiny seed of doubt, way back in the nervous part of my brain, just enough to make my stomach clench and heartbeat race for a moment, and it's gone. What if, what if, what if...what if we do start spending more time in her place, on her terms, but the problem doesn't go away? What if it is me, or the sudden intimacy, or simply that trapped feeling that occasionally clouds a relationship? What if she's not as sure as she's been?

What ifs are dangerous territory. Spend too much time there, and all sorts of nasty things can crawl out of the dark, each one bigger and more terrifying than the next. I know she loves me. I know I love her. She said she was feeling neglected the other day, attention-wise, and my heart sank. Not because I don't have it to give, or because I wouldn't gladly give it. No, my heart sank because nothing had changed on my end. That's the scariest part of a relationship--those moments when something has changed, but you feel the same. "I love you, but I'm not in love with you" wouldn't hurt if everyone agreed. "I just want to be friends" is harmless, unless you desperately want more. It's not the idea that I'm not doing something right that scares me. It's the idea that maybe, somewhere, there's a microscopic chance that somehow what I'm doing right is just not good enough.

I'm hesitant to post this now, after writing it, because I don't want her to feel bad--I know this isn't how she feels. The shadow of a doubt, that lingering fear, is a little thing. I feel it acutely, I think, because I don't want it to become true, and because I've seen it become true before. I broke her heart, the last time. If she's afraid to get too close, it's partly my fault. If she's defensive of her turf, and her time, it's partly because I so callously disregarded those things before, when I could pretend not to know better.

I don't want to lose her. I don't want to be scared. I don't want her to be unhappy. If it means packing an overnight bag every other weekend, sign me up. If it means going back to weekends alone, wondering how it went wrong, I'm RSVPing unable to attend. I'll do what I can, and I'll hope like hell that what I can is what she needs.