Pathos

They say opposites attract, which is half of the time true, and half of the time bullshit. In mine and Jonney's case, it's bullshit, because we have a splattering of similarities. Most of those are things like, "You like Iron Maiden? I like Iron Maiden, too! That's so metal!" and "Wait, you knew about that? Awesome!" But today, we let fly the floodgates and discovered that we both have a great number of neuroses. He can't stand people talking to him when he's working. I hate a waste of dishwasher space, meaning tupperware in the goddamn dishwasher, which we both decided was something incredibly unforgivable. Tupperware is easily hand-washed.

We discussed the idea of a clean space, a sort of oasis amongst even the most chaotic of places. His is the station where he records projects. Mine is a nine-by-eleven space on my desk.

And time passed, and then I realized we'd been talking for close on an hour, sitting on his back porch in the twilight. Things fly by so fast when I'm with Jonney that I think I just ought to never leave his house, ever. I could sleep in his big comfy bed. I said to him today, "You know what I want to do? Taco Bell." Where did we go? Taco Bell. I am in love with someone who will make Taco Bell trips with me, and refuse to get the food that won't give him a nosebleed. I said, "Maybe instead you should get like, the beans with cheese, or the fiesta potatoes." And he said no. He said no, and it was so cute. Then his nose started bleeding, and it was just as cute. Then I saw a video of him and his paintball team at work, and it was about as cute as a video of your fiancee eating cake as a child.

More importantly, though, I've been getting depressed like clockwork every third period. Like clockwork, I feel worthless and unimportant, and I go through the motions of writing assignments for Matt Thomas, trying to insert some kind of humor or little idiosyncrasy to preserve my uniqueness. But at least knowing that the strange and inane things that I do are a scrap of joy to Jonney, well, that makes it at least a little okay.

As long as he's cool with me making the bed three times a day, I'm cool with him power-slamming the microwave shut, and wearing a path in the kitchen floor from his pacing.