The Big One. (or, Feels Like EarthQuake Weather).

You may find yourself living in a shotgun shack You may find yourself in another part of the world You may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile You may find yourself in a beautiful house with a beautiful wife You may ask yourself, well, how did I get here?  

(that Talking Heads song you know you know the words to but not the name of.)

Them Heads really know how to Talk.

People like to ask in regards to any life altering moment,

When do you think it will hit you? When do you think it with settle in that (this) has happened?

With losing job, or gaining a boyfriend, or whatever I've always, in my adult life, answered,

I don't. I think that with most things, 'It' never hits you. It just comes to be, and then after time, you realize that things have changed - that It just Is. 

Things just become the way they are.
I still believe this.
I cannot pinpoint the exact moment I fell in love with Jim. It never hit me, justlikethat. Somewhere between 'This is Something' and 'I Love You', it simply became This Is Everything.
It was was, and is, and should be.
But tonight, sitting on "our" patio, looking in from the outside (quite literally - as I was peering into the front windows from the outside, at our new tuberose bouquet, at our light fixtures, at my Not My House Home), I realized that this is How It Is. That Home is my Home. My home is our house. His house is my Home.
How Did I Get Here?
I found myself thinking,

Gawd, if I could have only known.

And, I know, that like with anything, with everything, I may be peering right back into my own Tiny Room with a Kitchen Attached in three months time thinking the exact same thought.
But I hope, with all my heart, I am not*.

*Unless it's when a U-Haul is parked outside with its hazards on

 and I am packing my shit into it and 

getting the hell out of that Safe House of a studio apartment.

I never fell for the when-you-know-you-know BS. 

I spent a loooooooottttttttt of time ducking those proverbial hits. 

It took learning about Me to be able to be open and honest and loving enough to fall for someone without everything else that used to be attached to falling at all.

I was so fearful of hitting something I couldn't even walk to the ledge for fear of falling. 

'Fearful' is not the right word. 

'Afraid' is better. 

Like being afraid to speak, or to be a grown up, or any other of the Fears I've had.

For the most part, they've dissipated. 

I drink less. I smile more. 

I believe him when he tells me, earnestly, that everything will be okay.

Even when I know that in life, there is no assurance of that.

Apt F taught me that I am lovable.

Or in his words, 'I love you even though you're crazy'. 

Apt F also taught me that I don't want to - nor do I (or you or anyone else) deserve - such a caveat.

My Dutchman taught me that I am lovable, if only for a second. 

Lovable, even with only a glimpse. A spark. A sparkle.

My Ex of Five Years taught me I can accept a loving man, a loving family, and with maturity and age, be a devoted wife  er girlfriend. 

Actually, I mentioned to someone yesterday that I had moved in with a boy after three months at age 23 and we were together for five years and her response was,

Oh. Man. You probably thought you were going to marry him.

I did. 

In my head, I was. 

My Australian gave me own glimpse. 

A glimpse into a Whole New Woooooorrrrlllldddddd of adult dating.

So peering into my own window tonight, like Tiny Tim did in A Christmas Carol, and thinking How Did I Get Here like the Talking Heads... It Hit Me: I got here by knowing I deserve to be here. 

And, Itoldyaso, It didn't Hit. It just Is.

Man oh man, I deserve this Love. 

I deserve a Love Like This.

I want this Love. 

How good did it felt to say,
'Dad, He really Loves me.'

And its been a learning process, an imperfect process. 

But with all I've learnt, and all my imperfections, at this moment, 

Everything is perfect.

Perfect. 

Perfection with no end date, no transcontinental upstairs neighbor captain of the basketball team mumbojumbo to deal with.

I've learned that I deserve This Kind of Love.

And I believe I give it right back in return. Fuck, I sure hope I do.

And when, two nights ago, I was catatonic with stress, and nothing was perfect, and I was laying quiet and still on the couch trying to breathe - fearful of the Mail, for lack of a better explanation - when two nights ago, he gingerly crawled behind me, squeezed himself between my body and the couchback, and simply just held me as tightly as humanly possible - without saying a word, just gripping me tightly, as though I may fly away if he didn't; then, I was only reassured of what Is.

Or, as my dearest Flame put it, I Willed This Love.

It never Hit me, because It with Us always Was.

This is It.

Caveat: Or at least I sure hope so. 

Otherwise, I have no sense of anything and should be diagnosed as delusional and/or lick my finger and stick it in the wind prior to making any decision because the wind would be as equally as good of a indicator as my own sense of direction. And I'll be real sad.