I woke up yesterday morning and found no reason to venture through the living room. I didn't even need to get a fresh drink, as the diet root beer I'd opened before going to bed was still cold, due to a temperature drop in the night and no one feeling the need to turn on the heat. It was still carbonated, so why crack a new one open?
Becky popped on Skype mere moments after I got my computer up and running, so we started chatting...again...as usual. It was the typical babble, mixed with the occasional mush.
Before I knew it, the diet root beer was gone and I needed a new one. As I ventured to the kitchen, I noticed Steve on the couch. After my blowup a couple of months ago, I was a little surprised. But only a little. It's not like I was awake the night before for anyone to check in with me. In fact, when he and Ray arrived home the night before, everyone else was asleep, so it was judged, appropriately I might add, that if Steve didn't wake anyone, all should be well.
And it was. I mean, part of my explosion was the fact that Steve was spending several nights in a row on our couch. I don't mind him as a guest, but when it starts feeling like he's taking up residence here, THAT'S where I have a problem.
Steve was just waking up, and so I paused to chat briefly. (Oh, the torture of not speaking to Becky for a few minutes!) I found myself apologizing. Here, in the "real world," with just about anyone who has ears to listen, my topic of conversation is Becky. "Becky Becky Becky Becky Becky Becky Becky Becky Becky Becky. Becky Becky Becky Becky, Becky Becky, Becky Becky Becky Becky Becky Becky Becky Becky. Becky, Becky Becky Becky Becky Becky?" To be honest, I'm surprised people haven't told me to shut up already. And so we had the following chat...
Me: I'm sorry. I feel kind of foolish, but every time I start talking to someone, it's, "Becky-Becky-Becky-Becky-Becky-Becky-Becky-Becky-Becky-Becky." (Said in rapid succession.)
Steve: That's okay, Rob. You're twitterpated.
Me: (looking confused) I'm what?
Me: I don't know what this word means.
Steve: It's from Bambi.
Me: Ummm...Right. I'm going back to talking with Becky.
I still didn't know what the word was, although I had an idea. Words that sound a little off, however, require that I get a definition. Before I could actually do that, however, I was back on Skype with my lady-love...
Me: Well, that was odd.
Becky: What was odd?
Me: I just discovered Steve in the living room. I took a moment to apologize because you seem to be the only thing I talk about with anyone who has ears, and Steve said I was "twitterpated."
Becky: Oh, that's from Bambi!
Me: Okay, what the hell. A movie that I saw back when I was maybe five, and the two of you remember this "twitterpated" thing. (My poorly made point was that the movie was older than both of them, and they seemed to carry entirely too much information about it than I should, but that I didn't.)
Becky: Mmmm...My poor, twitterpated Rob.
Me: Okay, that's it!
Becky: (hearing me start to type away) What are you doing?
Me: I'm going to get an official definition on this word, even if it kills us all.
My dictionary didn't have it, so I completed my online search and found it most simply defined as "smitten." Well, if that's the case, I am, indeed, twitterpated.
And let me tell you, even during the short breaks, when I'm not talking TO Becky, I'm still managing to talk ABOUT Becky.
For example, I was out of smokes this morning. (Yes, I still have that terrible habit, despite having made my best effort to quit many months ago.) No one was awake, so I decided to walk down the the nearest gas station, (about 15 minutes at my best speed), to get a few packs. While I was there, I decided to grab a cappuccino. Once I was at the register, the cashier start ringing me up, and because I was only "faking" being conscious, I answered "yes" when she asked if what was in the cup was coffee. As I handed over my debit card, it dawned on me that I'd actually gotten the slightly more expensive cappuccino, and told her. She thanked me for my honesty, to which I replied, "Yeah, well...Sometimes I'm TOO honest. Still, it's my honesty that seemed to have attracted my girlfriend."
(Again, Becky is not officially my girlfriend as yet. Various things will be made official once we're face-to-face.)
So then I start hobbling home, and the gentleman who left the gas station before me had stopped to sit briefly. He had a cane as well, and as I approached where he sat, I said, "That looks like a good idea." So I sat, and he and I started talking. The poor guy is reaching 60, is a Vietnam vet, and facing several operations on his spine to address his degenerative nerve disease. Usually when someone starts talking about their illnesses, it becomes a contest. "Oh yeah? Well, I have THIS wrong with me. And THAT wrong with me. And you wouldn't believe the problems I'm having with the other thing." But when someone has spinal issues that occasionally force them to use a wheelchair, they win by default. For the time being, I can only empathize up to a point; there's no wheelchair in my life just yet, and hopefully never will.
He mentioned his wife of ten years, and how she tends to be the motivation for putting up his best fight against his chronic conditions. Well, that was like a door being kicked open for me to talk about my sweet, beautiful Becky. "Y'know, I've tried to have a romance here and there, but as we would become more interested in one another, I would tell them, 'Look, before we start getting serious, there's a few things you should know about me.' Then I'd go down the laundry list of problems I have, at which point they'd say something along the lines of, 'Well, it's been great getting to know you, but...Bye.' And they'd flee. But this woman that's coming to see me next week...I did everything in my power to make her run, and she refused. Her acceptance of me is what makes her the most wonderful woman on the planet."
The gentleman agreed with me, as his wife seems to be the same way. What got me was that this guy looked like a genuine brute. He's over 300 lbs., grizzled beard, fingerless gloves, black tank top (despite the morning chill)...I call him a "gentleman" because that's my style, but at a glance, that wouldn't be my regular assessment. If anything, I'd usually avoid being on the same side of the street with someone who looked like he could bend me into a pretzel. But listening to him talk about his wife...You could tell the love hadn't faded.
This prompted me to say, "It's amazing. There was a time not too long ago when women were often referred to as 'the weaker sex.' But without them, men like us would be nothing."
"Yeah," he said. "I think we all break just about even. Ain't no one really weaker than the other."
Well, not everyone needs to be loquacious to get the idea across.
I haven't told Becky this, but having her in my life changes a great deal for me. The biggest thing is that I feel as though I can stop existing. That is, the only thing I was doing prior to her becoming lodged in my heart was existing on a day to day basis. I was neither looking forward to nor regretting the next day. It was just there. And whatever that day brought, be it good or bad, was just another day in my life. On occasion, a friend would do something spectacular for me, and those were the days that were truly noteworthy. Beyond that, it was the popular phrase, "Same stuff, different day." (Okay, I didn't cuss. How often do I actually do that, eh?)
Becky has inspired me to start LIVING! No, I'm not living FOR her. I made that mistake in the past, and I'm trying my best to not do it again. But now I look forward to the next day, (and even start looking further into the future than that). Because the next day is going to still have someone who loves me for who and what I am, no matter what. While walking to work last night, Becky called (because I'd rather she be on the phone with me while wandering around in the dark than being utterly alone), and she started telling me how she wouldn't want me to change in any way. She stated that over the time she's known me, including the numerous months when we would just chat on City of Heroes, I haven't changed. She loves "this Rob," and the only thing that's been altered in our relationship is the fact that we have fallen for one another. And that, she said, is a good thing.
Her words had me sitting there, eyes closed, that contented smile plastered on my face, and once again basking in that glorious feeling that comes with having found someone you deem a perfect match. "Y'know," I began softly, "just when I don't think I could be anymore in love with you, you go and say something like that...and I realize I was wrong. I CAN fall deeper in love."
And so, my friends, I hope you can also forgive me. I have a condition that affects millions of people every day. This "illness" makes me want to babble on and on about someone special to me, and unlike my other other ailments, I pray this one will be chronic and untreatable. I'm twitterpated, folks, and thankfully there's no cure. =)