Sevens

Today is weird.

Two years ago today, Lui's beloved Nan died, which means Lui will spend the day in a state of mourning and reflection. He's asked to have a nice evening when he gets home from work, maybe watch a movie or something.

A year ago today was the London Underground bombings, which means the whole of the UK - including, it would seem, the weather, is also in a state of mourning and reflection.

Today is hanging under the cloud of all these people's sadness, and I'm not really sure what to do with it. I have no direct connection to a past traumatizing event on this day, but somehow the pervading gloom is making me reflect on my own past events and sadnesses, which usually just results in me wanting to punch my ex in the face.

And to add to the bizarrity that is today, is the fact that a year from today, I'll be getting married, which I still haven't quite come to terms with. So maybe what I'm mourning today is that spark, the new relationship energy, the nervous "is he going to kiss me?" feeling, the butterflies of waiting for a phone call, the cocktail-tinted expectations of a night out... the drama, the heartbreak, the desire to punch someone in the face - and wouldn't it be nice if it were someone other than the guy I stopped seeing two years ago and still can't manage to forgive?

Life seems so predictable now that I'm settled, in a real relationship for the first and last time; oddly, the fact that I would never ever even consider cheating on Lui, having been on the wrong side of cheating myself before, is sort of disappointing too, because it reinforces that I've given up all of those above feelings in favor of (God forbid!) the love and security he gives me. I can have sex whenever I want it, which largely means that I don't want it that much. And what's even worse is that he does: he still gets that here-and-now feeling about me, he wants to sneak off to toilets together, he wants me to slip my thong to him under the table at the restaurant, he wants to carry me upstairs and throw me down on the bed, he wants a lap dance. My feeling on all this? Pretty much, "Meh. If I'm not too tired/feeling sick/busy doing something else." It's horrible, and I hate myself for it.

Because here's the other side of the story: I love him. I look at our inevitable two-month separation when I go back to America and he stays here working, waiting for visas to coincide with life, and I'm devastated. I look at this weekend's trip to London to visit Marc, and what I focus on is not all the fun we're going to have, not the excitement of finally getting to see Avenue Q; no, I'm focused on those two nights of sleeping in a bed by myself. I know I couldn't live without Lui; I don't even want to try. But I need to figure out how to get those feelings, that Monica-and-Chandler-sneaking-around-behind-everyone's-backs excitement back. And we used to be just like that: discovering each other, revelling in each other, not giving a fuck about what anyone else thought (sorry Trish), constant PDA that makes some go "Aww" and others go "Eww". Now we're still happy, but significantly more boring, and it's all my fault.

My childhood best friend, Beth, is also getting married next year, and wrote to me in a letter, "Sometimes I think that I am never satisfied in the moment I am in, I am always wishing for the past or longing for the future, and I can forget to just enjoy the now. I think it is perfectly natural with every new beginning to grieve the ending that precedes it. But... our lives will be enriched with wonderful firsts and amazing moments, because we are blessed to experience them with people that we love with all our beings, and who share and return that love. How lucky are we!" This is comforting. Perhaps even more comforting was when, during our engagement photo shoot, we asked our 25-year-old photographer what married life is like, and she replied simply, "It's great. He's my best friend."

Lui is my best friend. Sometimes I forget that; other times I remember it and it surprises me. I know that we'll be happy together forever. We never get sick of each other, never run out of things to say to each other, never argue unless we're tired or hungry, and even then only about shit that doesn't matter. He makes me laugh. He takes care of me. I take care of him. When he's upset, I'll stop at nothing to make him feel better. When I'm mad at him for whatever stupid reason, or throwing a tantrum like I do sometimes, I mostly just can't wait for it to be over so I can hug him again. We talk about names for our children, and how we'll raise them. I never even thought about having children with anyone else, except in the malicious, "What if I got pregnant? Then what would he do?" sort of way. It's all nearly perfect (some visas would help right now), and it is exciting, just not in the same way.

What can I say? I'm a drama queen. I miss my drama. There's gotta be a way to make my life feel like a TV show again...