There are any number of boxes stacked tidily in the southeast corner of the living room. Well, it's a fairly low number, as packing stuff to move goes. I've been packing up the easy stuff, packing books, packing unused clothes, packing most of the contents of the lower cupboards in my bathroom except for the toilet paper.
How am I ever going to get all of this packed within the month? How am I ever going to get this moved in the three-day window?
It will be done, but I'm not sure what kind of physical or emotional shape I'll be in when it's over.
It looks like clergy-duties are speeding up again, which is all right with me, even though I'm somewhat startled.
I'm configuring my imitation-amber ring as a clergy-pager, not that the thing will light up and buzz and display a callback number in any way, but so that I'll have something physical I can take off and put on as necessary.
I've evolved explanation-words for that thing that isn't common sense, but something that lies deeper: "uncommon sense". There are times when common sense is screaming one thing, and uncommon sense is screaming something even louder. Things get weird when bystanders only hear the common sense and start rooting for that, when uncommon sense says the exact opposite.
Common sense says that I should have given Darkside the kiss-off and the "If you want us to just be friends, then friends is all we'll ever be" speech back in 2001 (either May or October, depending), and probably started drifting away from him (because it takes a certain magnetism to hold me to him).
Uncommon sense says that so long as I love him and he cares as fiercely as he does for me, then we're to cling together as stubbornly as only the two of us can, because we still haven't finished learning each other and ourselves deeper than our own mothers know us.
On this one, I have to choose uncommon sense, because uncommon sense also tells me that following common sense's advice would leave us both not just wounded and bleeding, but crippled. Not just me. Him, too.
Leaving aside that I don't want to cripple myself, I could never do that to him, not without a really damn good reason to. Somewhere in the wide galaxy, there have to be circumstances that could make me decide that deserting Darkside and leaving him in the limbo of my absence would be better than the infelicitous second alternative offered, and I pray that we'll never be faced with any of them. As it is, the mere fact that while I'm bonded this tightly, I cannot form other romantic attachments, is not worth the trouble it would cause us both for me to detach.
It's amazing, all the attention I have to give to other things, now that it's not consumed with contemplating the marriage prospects of males I come to know casually. Who knew that thinking about men like that was such a resource hog? It makes me a lot calmer, a lot happier.
If I hadn't discovered, four years ago, that I liked the person I was around him better than I liked the person I was around other people, I wouldn't be me today. I liked the person I was around him so much better that I became her full-time. I haven't regretted that decision.
It's always a nagging feeling of badness when I'm close to someone, and there's something that I do or feel that is incredibly important to me, and not only do they not understand what I'm after in that thing, but they don't accept it.
It's very stereotypically something of me to need for my inner needs, if known by my friends, to be either accepted or a treaty of Not Messing With This Shit drawn up. If those around me are trying to change me, I have to either agree, root-level, with the change, or make it so those who are trying to change me to my detriment and without my permission are no longer around me.
I'm not one of those people who can brush off sincere attempts to change me, even "for my own good", when they're by someone who's close enough to me to theoretically know better. Either the person has to stop trying to change me, or I start to consider them an enemy who knows far too much about me for my comfort, but evidently not enough about me to be a friend, because if they were really a friend, they'd have stopped trying to change something that's essential to my survival.
Fortunately for me, my brain no longer feels like fiberglass insulation has been dumped inside.