Boyfriend, you have worked quite a lot this past week. Seventy-one hours in five days is a lot, especially when your job requires a lot of physical activity and heavy lifting. You are still tired, even after three days off-- so tired that you can't stay awake to do things you would normally do in a heartbeat, like wait for me to get off work at 1 AM. Because my car is broken, still, for the seventh week running. And I don't mind that at all. I can get rides from other people. I want you to rest.
But it's hard to express to you that even after you've been home all weekend, I miss you. I didn't get to spend enough time with you between work and other people, and I miss you terribly-- it's like someone carved out part of my stomach and hid it from me. I need it back. People say that when you have children, you love them more than you knew that you could love anyone, ever. But I don't know. Because if that love hurts worse than this, well... I don't know if I can handle it.
On the other hand, all the love in the world does not stop my annoyance when I come home to the kitchen I cleaned five minutes before going to work, and find that my teeny tiny kitchen is so full of dirty dishes that I don't know if they will even all fit in the sink. I am so glad you had fun, hung out with good friends, and enjoyed a good meal. But for Christ's sake, couldn't ONE of you at least RINSE the dishes before everything got all crusted on?
I was thinking about those dishes just now, because they've officially been sitting out for over 24 hours in the kitchen that has one of the worst roach infestations I've ever seen, and I hate feeding those damned bugs. And you do this all the time, not just when you're tired. And combined with my current out-of-control hormones, the thought of cleaning that up makes me want to burst into tears and crawl under my blanket until someone creates a world where there is no such thing as a roach, or a dirty dish.
But then I look over at you, sleeping restlessly because of the light from my computer-- or possibly for some other reason (hopefully for some other reason, so I won't feel quite so guilty). Our child-replacement of a kitten, Icarus, has just curled up on your chest, purring loudly from the pleasure of being near you in a way that he doesn't with me, and even though he's just a cat, I can tell he has a special bond with you. In a way, you're his daddy, and he loves you.
Dirty dishes don't matter so much in the face of that kind of love, because I know it's the kind of love that you will one day inspire from our children, and the kind of love that you inspire in me every day. If dirty dishes are the biggest problem in our relationship after a year and a half, I think I might be okay with them.
But could you maybe rinse them, at least? Pretty please?
Hugs and kisses forever,
Liss
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