It took patience and compromise to build our routine, and turn my single room into our home. I turned away from my huge vistas of solitude, relinquishing the time that I believed was my most productive, and we set to the task. My beloved has an intuitive grasp of the clockwork that populates a home with fine things -- food, clothing, utensils, instruments, art -- and imbues each with a warm fraction of her soul, such that even when she's away, I can feel her around me. I glance at her typewriter and half expect the keys to be typing themselves. I expect her candles to flare alight, her bread pans to dutifully rinse themselves, her CDs to roll obediently into my car stereo, anticipating her next trip downtown. Such is the force of her will.
And to my relief and surprise, those vistas of solitude were not my perfect workshop. A part of me always believed that an intimate relationship could only make me resent the loss of my time. Now, I realize why I came to believe that. Because of the people I chose to date, the work I invested in my relationships never made my own life easier.
Helping to maintain the routine that sustains both my beloved and I has had tangible and comprehensive benefits. And when I do earmark some time to work on a project, I begin it less distracted, more rested, and more determined than before.
My right brain is already head over heels for her, but now my left brain loves her too.
Take care, sweetie, and come home soon.