Day 352--Venom and spice

There was plenty of fire of venom a few days ago in one of the best fights I've ever been in.  There was broken property, yelling, literal screaming, and every single awful hurtful and honest thing you could say or want to say was said.  And there is was. My boyfriend and I, two depleted bodies with all the spite out.  And what is left but two people who for better or worse really do love each other. 

It's always been tricky for me to write about love or to talk about in person.  I suppose love is too personal and individual of a thing, and in a strange way a very very private thing.  Like owning a secret just for you two.  But there is was.  And after it all, we hugged for a long while on the sidewalk and kissed fully; surrender.  And where to go from here? I'm utterly lost in figuring out my life and every day a new idea or interest or city or date comes into view, and he's been in between jobs and promises of jobs, and it's all so in between.  His biggest argument to me is that if I'm planning on moving then at least be certain about it and have research and a plan to back it up, otherwise I'm going to find the same problems I found in San Diego.  And my argument to him to to get his shit together which he is trying to, but the people he's trying to work for are flaky as shit. So in betweens.

I guess the heart of the matter between us is uncertainty.  Uncertainty of his employment, and uncertainty of his finances, and his uncertainty of if this 4/20 industry is something he wants to stay in, and uncertainty of progressing with me with living together or moving together when he's not in stable place to launch from.  And obviously my uncertainty--for the past fucking year-- is what exactly do I want to do in my life?  What do I want to pursue, career-wise?  Because that job determines everything of where I want to live and the lifestyle I want and the time and debt I need to put into it.  There only thing that is certain is love, and we love each other.  It would easier if we didn't, but we do.

Whenever he walks into a room I'm happy.  When he touches my back or calf or feet, all of the chaos and depression of my stress eases away.   I like fighting and debating with him because it keeps my mind sharp and words precise.  I like laughing with him, and I do it often.  He's more goofy than most people know, especially his silly dancing when no one's watching.  And he's one of the most polite people I've ever met, and he's gets annoyed (like me) when people talk while yawning, or interrupt a deep conversation to answer the phone, or when girls don't pay their share at a group dinner and don't think they have to, ect.  He likes learning about the world, and while he laughs whenever I say my frequent, "Have you heard what Hillary Clinton did today?" he actually does know what Hillary Clinton did today.  

I do love him.  And he loves for a lifetime.  Young, broke, and in love--it's not quite as charming as Dickinson would like you to believe but c'est la vie.