zaterdag, november 20, 2004

How to remind me that I love you.

He says that when the urge comes over him it's overpowering, and that after the urge is fulfilled he becomes serene and calm. Sounds like an addiction to me. As addictions go, I suppose Ian's isn't all that bad.

He cleans. By that, I mean: He. Cleans.

When the urge will hit and require him to indulge himself in his addiction is anyone's guess, but it's generally on the weekend. This morning it happened before I had finished my first cup of coffee.

Although I've at times lived with various monkeys on my back, none of them have ever whispered in my ear that it was time to clean. Everything. NOW. And I've never lived with anyone who had this addiction. I just don't understand it.

What I do understand is that this morning the cleaning monkey not only jumped on Ian's back, he also pulled on Ian's hair and yelled in his ear. He would not be ignored.

What you will understand is that I did what any reasonable person must do when faced with a loved one in the throes of indulging an addiction: I physically removed myself from the premises until the monkey calmed down.

It didn't help that shortly after I left and got on my bike to go to the store, I rode right into a hailstorm. This is not a metaphor. I mean, I ran right into a hailstorm. I made it to the store and tried to do some shopping even though I had left my list at home (where it had probably already been "cleaned up" to some notebook or drawer or maybe even the trash), but the store was inexplicably out of everything I wanted to buy.

Once the sky cleared I left, empty handed, and rode to the next nearest store. Annoyed. When I got to the other store, I found they had rearranged everything. Nothing was in the same place. Even the aisles had moved - those that used to face North/South were now East/West, and those that . . . well, you get the idea. Not a big deal, normally, but when you don't speak the language, it's a big deal when your supermarket rearranges. Everything.

Even. The. Freaking. AISLES.

I got what I needed, although it took me about four times longer than usual to find the things I needed, and then, although my head was pounding and every nerve in my body was frayed, I rode home. I was very depressed, and had was one of those feel-sorry-for-myself moments that everyone who moves from their homeland has every once in awhile.

I got home and nervously climbed the stairs to our apartment, and was met at the threshold by this:

As I read the message from these letters on the floor, each cut from a page of the phd Ian's writing, I was instantly reminded just how much I love this man, even with the monkey on his back.