Today is my anniversary with Rick. Five years. FIVE YEARS. Holy crap. And to think, it was only supposed to be sex... Well, I guess at this point I'm supposed to muse on our longevity. I don't often talk about this, at least, not publicly, but after five years, I suppose I can share my wisdom. I've learned some things along the way.

Firstly, it is important to recognise that even when you don't feel you can give a person what they need, be it love, attention, food, sex, whatever, and the guilt eats at you, makes you want to give up and throw the whole thing away, have patience. Some of my friends, and I'm sure, Rick, too, know that for a long time, I felt that I couldn't give Rick what he deserved. He fell for me hard, and quickly, and I felt like I was always playing a game of catch-up and no matter what, I lagged behind. It was frustrating for me, and probably unfair to Rick, and I thought about ending things because of it. But, all the time, I kept reminding myself that there had been relationships in my past where I had been the giver and the other had used me up and then backed out when it looked like they were supposed to reciprocate. So, I hung on, not wanting to be like those people.

Secondly, and this is related to the first point, if they're good to you, respect you, and keep you warm and safe, that's already 70% of what you need to sustain the relationship. Sure, you have to do the same for them, and here, I think I failed quite regularly through our first couple of years, but... Rick had patience. Stubborness? That too. And, he was right. If they're all those good things, and you can't figure out what the problem is, barring sexual disappointment, maybe you owe it to yourself to take some time to figure things out. I put this into practice at a point when I honestly believed I would not survive Rick's constant adoration and my own incapacity to reciprocate. Some of this was chemical imbalance, some of this was situational, some of this was external distractions that sapped my ability to commit. It took four months to reflect on what I had and why that made me a really, really lucky woman.

Thirdly, allow room for growth. Over time, people change. Sometimes they change for the worse, but I believe most people change for the better. In the beginning, Rick was really hard to like. He was an asshole in restaurants and his impatience and intensity made me cringe. Smoking was also a major turn-off. He treated a few of my friends to his least likeable qualities and that made them question why a sensible girl like me would be with such a pig. I knew he wasn't always a pig, but he definitely rubbed people the wrong way. Abrasive, is the word. Something kept me holding on, though, and it wasn't just the sex. It was the realisation that Rick was mellowing, was moulding himself into something more palatable... someone... nicer. Those four months apart forced me to see just how much he had changed. And that I'd changed. Because growth happens to you, too, though often we can't see it, because we think we're the way we've always been. Also, don't believe that if there wasn't passion in the beginning there will never be passion later on. Passion can come later. It can grow just like any other facet of a relationship. It does not have to be there at the beginning. In fact, it might even be better to grow into it, because you can say to yourself, "Wow, things just keep getting better !" which is way cooler than saying, "Remember how it was?"

There are probably a hundred other things I could offer as advice, but I think these are the three most important for me and Rick. Five years ago, after spending the night together, I said to myself while we waited for the streetcar that would take me to work and away from him, "If he kisses me goodbye and thanks me, I'll invite him back." He waited until the last possible second, but he did, and I invited him back. I've been inviting him back for five years now.

And I love him. I LOVE RICK.

In other news, unrelated to our anniversary, I've got the house to myself this week. My mother is in New York City visiting friends. She flew down on Wednesday and will come back the same day next week. She was nervous, because she hadn't really travelled, especially not alone, like this since her stroke. But, now that she's there, I bet she's having a wonderful time. I sent her a tiny list of things I'd like her to bring back for me, including new bras from Victoria's Secret, and more Sesame Street panties. I love 'em ! So, anyway, she's supposed to be visiting old friends and stuff, but I don't know if she will - she may end up not giving herself enough time. I know how that can be.

Anyway, I'm alone here, with the cats, which really means I'm not alone at all because at any given time, one of them might be sitting on me/next to me, staring at me, yelling at me, or getting underfoot. Pilling Melody is going better than I thought it would, but I have to say, no wonder she doesn't like Mom as much as she used to - being pilled three times a day is brutal. It's also a bit of a trick to remember which ones she's had already, but I'm getting the system down. Chester is lonely. Last night, he sat up on Mom's bed waiting for her. It was sad. I'm just not 'the mama'. He has been outside a fair bit, though, as has Willi, because there is much cat activity and many bushes needing to be sprayed. It means there is less litterbox activity, which is nice for me.

Which, somewhat relatedly, reminds me that I have to feed the fish before I go back to school.