Phobia

I was eating some tea by the radiator this afternoon and had an awful vision of what marriage would be like. First I was imagining building a huge fort from blankets and pillows with my husband and both of us crawling in to the largest "room" in the fort. Lying on our backs looking up at the pattern on the blanket and discussing all kinds of grand ideas and theories. And then making out hard core. And in the middle of getting naked one of us thinks of a brilliant insight into our earlier discussions and the other one thinks it is SO HOT and then the blankets suddenly fall down on top of us and we come up laughing and gasping for air. And we leave the pile of bedding from the fallen fort and run into the bedroom...

He would fall in love with my impracticality. My wild ideas and shifting passions draw him to me.

And I would fall in love with his focus. His ability to make sense of things. His practicality. And that fundamental difference in outlook will be our downfall.

I will come rushing to him one day with something crazy to talk about and he will pause from what he is doing long enough to say, "That's wonderful, Katie, but I have things to DO now. You'll just have to go play by yourself for awhile." I will be sad, but I'll understand. We cannot play ALL the time. Gradually, that will begin to happen more and more often, with me growing more and more irrelevant, more and more peripheral to what really matters: Getting Things Done. Until it becomes the norm. My husband, buried in practicality and me, sad, and more alone than I am now, and thinking of that time we built the fort and everything was fresh and new and perfect...