open relationship

The first date

The first date

in an open relationship is weird.
Duh, right?  I mean, most first dates are in the weird or boring.

As with most things, GF and I have radically different approaches.
Her: So I’m going out Friday…
Me: Oh, okay.  Out, like, on a date?
Her: …Yeah.
Me: Cool.  Wait, has it even been a week since we’ve open relationshipped?  And she’s got a date?  Of course she does.  Anyone I know?
Her: ***.  I’m not sure I want to go.  I don’t know if I’m even attracted to him but he’s been wanting to hang out for a while.
Me: Oh really?  For a while?  Interesting…
Her: So I might not come home tonight.
Me: Right.  Damn this bitch is fast.  She’s really good at this dating thing; is it because she knows how the male brain works?

Strange…to think of her spending the night with someone else.  Even though it’ll be completely outside of my physical sphere, I feel an emotional prick, like the reality of open relationshipping has just stung me.  And I don’t know if I’m cut out for this.  But maybe it’s just the total newness of it all that’s making me feel a little queasy on the inside.

Then there’s me and ***…
Imagine two people who speak multiple languages between them.  You’d think they’d be able to communicate, right?  Except when you factor degrees of fluency, the odds of non-communication are amplified (mathy people, back me on this).  Actually, here’s a snapshot from my brain instead:

The first date

WHY are we in the green?!
Sure, there’s some orange here and there but he doesn’t really want to orange because of the (lack of) fluency factor.  White is completely ignored (he doesn’t even know this exists), which is my doing.  I purposely steer clear of it because it’s just enough to navigate through the rocky green and I’m not up for a potentially even more challenging white.

So I feel like I’m in a really strange language lab (that serves really good food, by the way), borderline forgetting I’m supposed to be deciphering levels of romantical interest.

How did I even get to this strange and somewhat tortuous place, trying to read signs of interest in [insert non-native language]?
Short answer: Because he asked me out.
Real answer: I wanted to know how much chemistry trumps linguistics.

Truth: The above scenario requires a lot of chemistry.


She expected me to leave

She expected me to leave

but instead I stayed.

If she hadn’t come out to me, I would’ve left.
Not so much if you know the why.

7 months of dating, cohabitating and…
we’re still getting to know each other but a little something is missing…nothing I can articulate or am losing sleep over but there’s a faint yellow light blipping on my radar.

10 happy coupled months have passed but something’s up.  It’s like we were rambling through this curious and enchanting forest, noticing randomly fascinating, new and endearingly odd things about each other and then- bam.  I hit an unexpected beige wall.

Why the boring, all of a sudden?  I know there’s way more to him than what he’s presenting these days.  It’s as though his brain is on auto-pilot and a certain spark is missing.  It’s a vague-ish subject to broach but I try…
Me: Um, are you not bored these days?  Because I am.  And frustrated.
Him: I wish I had time to be bored.  He does have a crazybusy schedule.  Maybe he’s just over his lack of him-time?
Me: It doesn’t feel like we’re in a weird, stagnant place?
Him: Well, we are because we both want to move.  Okay, I didn’t mean it so literally.  And you’re not making enough art.  If you made more art, you’d be happier.
Hmm…if this is his way of deflecting, it’s working.  But he’s being sincere and he speaks the truth so…I put the focus on myself and draw some damn unicorns with exploding goiters.

15 months, we’ve decided Tokyo is our destination city and we’ve got 11 months to get our shit together.
As I ponder an us, looking towards the future, this bit happens:
Him: When I can completely share everything with you, then I’ll know I can really commit to you.
Me: Oh.  Ouch.  We’re about to move 7,000+ miles away and maybe at some arbitrary point you’ll know you can commit?  We don’t even have the same definition of commit, do we?  Oh fuckfuckfuck.  

And now I feel like a fool.
I trust him enough to trust him with everything; at the same time, there’s nothing more I can do/be for him to trust me.

So I start to retreat; clearly I had mistaken the us in the future.

At 18 months he comes out to me.
Thank. Fucking. God.
This is everything?
Now maybe we can try to have a relationship.