Love: Trade Off-y and Balancing Act-y

For very action there is an equal and opposite reaction.
I think I get it now.
For every trait that I love about my fiance, there is a related one that drives me up a wall, over to the butcher block, where I’ll grab a cleaver to go all Lorena Bobbitt on his ass.
Only one of us will get out of this thing alive, I guarantee it.

We laugh constantly. Well, usually I’m the one laughing because he just wanged his head on something or fell down. We understand the same obscure references. It’s a good time.
On the other hand…
Things can go too far. A tickle fight can turn into me biting him because I can’t breath with him pinning me and refusing to get off. Jokes turn hurtful and end in fights or me crying.

He protects me. I had a neighbor come to our door late at night and threaten to have me towed from our apartment parking lot for parking in a spot that had such faded No Parking lines they’re invisible. When Jason got home from work, he snuck out in the dead of night to find the same guy smoking outside. Jason told him that if he ever spoke to me or looked at me he’d kick his ass. That same man opens doors for me with eyes fixed on the ground. Awesome.
On the other hand….
He does so with too much zeal. Like hiding my mail or pretending our financial situation isn’t what it it. All in the name of making me happy or keeping me from getting too stressed out or depressed. Heart in the right place, but no.

He is incredibly easygoing, he is rarely frustrated. Even when our washer would NOT STOP LEAKING all over the carpet the first month we lived here he just popped behind it with my monkey wrenches and tried again. Or when I’m feeling snippy and stressed and he’s the closest target, it rolls off his back.
On the other hand…
He represses things. Mostly the anger and frustration that comes with fixing the washer and me being snippy… and it explodes about a month or so later. Then we rebuild and the cycle starts again. Being easygoing with emotions means he’s easygoing with the one thing I need him to be a hard ass about; cleaning. Good god, so many socks! They are everywhere and they could support a small ecosystem. And I have to touch them.  Dishes, the bathroom, underwear, tracking in outside junk, weird smells, Magic cards (which will get their own post, trust me); it all stems from Jason. It’s what makes me see red the most.

Not that I’m perfect. I leave bobby-pins all over the house. There is a stack of at least five half read novels next to my side of the bed. I bogart the TV and the Netflix queue and don;t do laundry in a timely fashion. He puts up with his fair share. Makes me wonder why either of us bother.

Kidding. I do know why. Because at the end of the day, when I plan trips to Memphis or Vegas in my head, I can’t help but think of what it is that he would like to see and do. Or when I grocery shop, picking up a bottle of Jaritos is second nature. I don’t have to try and love him. Remembering why I do in the first place is another story.

Bane of my existence, love of my life.

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