The Mug Rebellion

I'm not a button pusher, as you know. You may have been told I'm avoidant, but I'm not that, either. I just know when something is a lost cause. But, no. I know any given pair of humans is going to have differences. There are conflicts, always. I don't avoid them, but I don't lean into them, either. And, I dunno, maybe you aren't used to that — I know I'm not. But I honestly suspect you're the same. Lay the cards on the table. Do your best to understand. Try to find a solution. No puzzles and never, ever pushing anyone into a corner where they feel trapped. I dunno. That's the goal, anyways, but… we are both human, aren't we? I guess we'll see how it goes… The good news, though, is I know both of us would rather grow than stagnate. That we both ask ourselves to be better at least as much as we ask it of others. That we recognize our own faults, and we both at least take stabs at being better.

Anyhow. Speaking of things you may have been told, I'm pretty sure you've heard the Sims analogy. That I'm like a Sim, and if you take me out of my home, my “Environment” meter drops precipitously, and so I don't like to be out for too long. You may have even heard me agree with that. Well… I think you should know that, at some point along the way, I realized that was a false narrative. It's not being out and about that exhausts me. I don't expect I need to spell the rest out for you, but… in case you were ever worried that I wouldn't like to join you people watching in downtown while we have a meal together… Don't. That sounds absolutely lovely to me. Anytime. Every time, if you'd like (and our wallets somehow manage to afford…). I'm taking my narrative back. It's a little thing, but sometimes the little things add up.

And, besides, I haven't ever been exhausted when I've been around you.

Speaking of little things, there's this mug. It was given to me as a gift, maybe a graduation present from high school, I don't remember for sure. Point is, I've had it for a long, long time. And I like it. It's cute. Bloom County, so, you know… a joke that would land terribly if it weren't being told by a neurotic puffin.

Twenty years ago, that mug was taken from me. Oh, it's still in my home. It was just made absolutely and abundantly clear that I was not to use it. Not for myself, not ever. And not told with sweet little glances through pretty eyelashes, either.

And I abided by that rule for long enough that the person who set it likely no longer even remembers. But I do. Amazing how such a little thing like a mug can leave a scar…

Well. That's changed. Does it matter? No, probably not, not in the grand scheme of things. But here I am, right now, writing this to you while sipping my coffee out of it.

Doesn't matter to her anymore, doesn't matter to the universe, perhaps. But it matters to me.

So, you know me. I can't leave anything unspoken or understated, so. Of course. In my head I think of it as The Mug Rebellion. Because what better way to celebrate the teeniest tiniest victory than by giving it an overinflated name?

Well. Hope you think it's cute, if nothing else.

Babe. We are getting there. It's taken a while. Fuck, it's taken forever. You have no idea the ache in my hands just wanting to touch you. The ache in my heart wanting to wrap you up in my embrace. But we're doing it. It's happening. In slow motion, but it's happening.

God. I love you. You have no idea.

You're not even gonna know what hit you, babe.

But it's gonna be good.

Love you. Always.
Me.