It's really day seven hundred and twenty-nine.
That's how many days Jodi and I have been together.
Tomorrow--which is in about thirty two minutes from now--will be our two year anniversary. In fact, I'm sure that I'll be writing this until then and so it will post on Thursday, not Wednesday night which it currently is.
Anyway . . .
She is lying next to me trying to sleep. These keys on my laptop are quiet but I'm betting my money that she can still hear them. And if she can she's probably guessing I'm writing something like this about this very topic. But the soft snore I can hear tells me it's blending in fine with the coming sleep's soundtrack.
Time pours out of the sky, the air, the ground and the faucets like it has no limit. These last two years have been gushing like a busted fire hydrant. Often I wonder where it all comes from and how the hell much of it there could possibly be.
I've been going over some old photos on my computer and I'm kind of amazed at how much we've done together.
I guess it's what couples do: stuff. Lots of stuff.
Trips and birthdays; meals and parties; concerts and sporting events; holidays and funerals.
But besides the fluctuation in hair length and seasonal attire I see two people who haven't really changed much. And when I say that I really mean by what one could surmise from a photo.
The camera pointed by hand takes only as honest a picture as one can pose for. I love the shots of us from a few series that we have where we used the timer. I'm sure if you've ever used a timer on a camera then you most likely have a few candid pictures of yourself either coming towards or walking away from the lens because either it went off too soon or you thought it did when it didn't. You see yourself in motion and usually in a hurry. But you have no one to blame for this. It's kind of nice to see the unpredictability of it all. You leave this little black or silver answer to your impractical dilemma on a shelf, or a rock, or a windowsill and run back in an attempt to look as cool and calm as if it--the camera--had asked you itself to take the picture for you. As if it had seen you on vacation taking a picture of each other and wanted to do the nice thing so you can both get in the shot.
And you have one shot out of three hundred where you aren't making a face you don't normally make in everyday life.
But everyday life is what we all lead. And the time we spend that is not documented somewhere is just gone like that water out of a hydrant. It leaves us and it doesn't come back, ever.
So I have ten minutes to write while I can still say--as Jodi just said to me before she kissed me goodnight and rolled over onto her bedded hemisphere--that we have been together for one-year-and-so-many-months-and-so-many-days.
Make that eight minutes after I just had to check the last paragraph for grammar.
But the time had run out of all these pipes for years and years before we had ever met. It came out for thirty eight--damn close to thirty nine--of mine before we made a formal introduction. And it will pour out for as long as my heart will still beat no matter what happens around me.
A lot can happen--good and bad--as we see everyday.
The time I spent preparing myself for devotion went on and on.
The time I spent trying different combinations of people, places, and things to fulfill me is past.
The hours I spent making connections and hoping for enlightenment--or maybe just a little fun--seems like a story I'm telling the grandkids.
All this time has to go somewhere.
And the world that I made for myself.
And the world that she made for hers.
It all counts and it all matters--every second of it.
I am awestruck by the honesty that I can muster from myself and that which I am given from her.
It makes me smile everyday.
It makes me worry, too.
Because this little organism is a delicate thing.
This little combination of worlds . . .
And now it has been two years.
She may remember that little kiss I just gave her. But if not that's okay too.
It's the times we do things without thinking that show who we really are.
It's the timer we set for ourselves and then hurry back to the spot where we think it will see us . . . and it saw us and captured our image just not exactly as we had anticipated.
She kissed me back without thinking about who or why or what time. She just knew it was me.
She is my camera and she sees those faces that aren't for show.
She is my one and only.
I will sleep for hours now, because if I don't I can't spend tomorrow's time the best I can.
And I would have never predicted all of this in an endless bucket of guesses.
Such a miracle.
Such a lucky man I am.
Such is life.
I love you, Jodi, my dear, and know I always will.
Thanks for reading.