Today marks two months since the S.O. and I mutually decided that friendship was insufficient for us, and since then, it would be hard for me to be happier. In the ups and downs of my life, she has become along with my family a great constant, and I feel so blessed. Not that our constancy means we're always mentally synchronized.
I'm a morning person, and lately I've been getting up early due to the oppressive heat in the apartment. I mean, EARLY. 3:30 a.m. Sometimes I fall back asleep, but not always. Yesterday, for instance, I lay awake until 4:30, decided that since I had a job interview that morning I should keep the mind sharp anyway, and spent an hour doing logic puzzles before going to the gym. I then spent the entire day in shirt, tie, and pants, carrying a computer bag on my shoulder. The S.O., on the other hand, is not a morning person, as anyone who took the Henry James seminar with her can attest to. She has to set an alarm, and yesterday she forgot to set it, woke up to silence, decided she had gotten roused too early, and fell back asleep until 11:38.
I have long had a theory that time works aversely on language in the short term: the longer awake you are, the less capacity you possess. Last night, as I walked the S.O. home after a hard-fought but losing battle at Trivia Night, the theory was proven. She, with eight hours of extra sleep, was relatively chipper despite the lateness and talked at length about a fascinating but depressing book she had just finished on crystal meth in America. I was genuinely interested, but ti was taking me twice as long as usual to form sentences, including thinking up words like "eat" and "sentence" as I tried to explain the fact to her. And we were both repeating ourselves to what for other people would have been annoying degrees.
Thankfully, some of the best times in our relationship render language equally insufficient.
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