Do you think that my grandmothers’ and your grandmothers’ spirits get together and watch us? …over tea, of course. (I must warn you, there is a Fallout 4 spoiler at the end of this first paragraph.) Like, we’re watching our grandchildren’s generation on screens, oblivious as to why we were brought together. Sixty to a hundred years from now, could they be doing the same thing in the afterlife (via a microchip in their left cornea)? Like, we could be in the afterlife now and not even know it. In this moment, I’m watching my grandchild via a video game about post-war Boston, over two hundred years into the future (he was cryogenically frozen for two hundred ten, for those not in the know), trying to cope with finally finding his son. (Sorry to those of you who are not yet 55 hours into it. Maybe I should include a spoiler warning up top.)
It’s difficult for me to believe that Mike still likes what he sees in me. After almost six months of being together, our sex life has slowed down a bit (at least two to four times each week instead of six to eight like the first couple months) to a more realistic amount of sex for my vagina (that still makes me irrationally question the validity of his attraction), and he doesn’t touch me as often (subtle touches here and there, grab my butt, wrap his arm around my waist). He still does it, but it’s been half-lifed just like the sex.
I probably wouldn’t be questioning any of this if it weren’t for the six shitty months I spent with someone who wasn’t worthy of me. And I’m not the type of asshole who thinks she’s better than anyone (except who I’m going to tell you about now), so hear me out. Continue reading