I have a roommate. Kevin. Kevin is in love. Seriously in love. He refers to his soul mate as "my beloved". He's a grown man of unknown age but surely older than I am and I have found that kind of over the top, romantic behavior a little irksome.
She lives in Sweden while he is here in Los Angeles and this would be a problem for mortals, but they are in love. Thanks to Skype, frequent flyer miles and the internet, it really is like she is across town. They do everything together. They are translating a play and rewriting it. They will produce it this summer in London. They paint together. She starts a work, sends it to him, he adds and sends it back. They share photographs and parenting challenges. They talk about diet and menu plan. They have a rich and romantic relationship.
This is so the opposite of what I have with my guy. We sit around his fire pit, go out to a bar, head back to his place and have sex. That's it. A few times we've skipped the sex and I consider those evenings a failure. One time we watched tv.
I was thinking this afternoon that it is really impossible for me to be in love with my guy. There is romance in falling in love. We have no romance. But honestly, I'm not looking for it. It takes a certain amount of silly and an investment in time I don't have. But I did get to thinking today, while Kevin was talking about how he and his beloved were going to celebrate her birthday together with an ocean and a continent between them, that it might be nice if my guy and I did something together. Anything.
Maybe I'm not irked by Kevin's insufferable love. I might in fact be a little jealous.