I think too much

Some stress I'm under right now. Such that makes me moody and whine a lot. Mike's efforts to comfort me - though I feel thier effect - don't lift my spirits enough. We find ourselves frustrated with thinking our love isn't "enough" for the other: mine because it's tainted by my work-load and his because it only brings a fleeting respite for me. We find ourselves swinging until we pass-out in exhaustion from our own cycles of annoyance, self-abasement, passion, playfulness, and friendliness. I should be thankful that we cycle together. That we both cycle.

I asked him if he didn't find it a miracle that we both love each other at the same time and with the same intensity. He said it happens all the time and is the reason why couples get married and stay together all over the world.

I asked him what world he was living in.

Maybe the world of infidelity and cheapened integrity is a bizarre-yet-tiny subspace of a real-world where people find serious love for lifetimes.

Maybe I'm the freak.

I feel badly, though, because for years I've rewarded myself for being reinforced against love and promises. I've rewarded myself for learning to not need and to certainly never expect love and promises. And here is a man promising me love and I lay beside him and say,

"yah, but I'm not so sure you won't leave me anyway."

So where does that put him? In a position to argue? Not hardly. But it certainly doesn't support his courage.

I blame my heightened penchant for pessimistic-anaylses on the fact that I'm trying not to fail my classes right now.

In time I'll lose my fears. And in time I'll learn how to be a "girlfriend". I've not been one of those in so long that I've forgotten how.

I know how to be a friend. And a sister. And a daughter. And a dude. And a student/employee. And a flirtatious, brief, bar-encounter.

I don't like the type of girlfriend I was with David, so really I have no effing clue how to do this. I mean, I was a good girlfriend to him, but too much so, to the point I lost all consideration for myself. Mike doesn't want a machine, though, he wants me.

And he just produces perfect-boyfriend maneuvers day after day and I feel like a royal highness.

I swear when this semester is over he'll receive. And receive.

And receive.