comfort

I think, ultimately, I am immature; childish, even. As evidence, my ongoing desire to keep the “long-distance” in my long-distance relationship. (I visited Jenn for a long weekend and we were talking about it).

First, my work. I have often said that Jenn would be the ruin of my career. One cannot thrive at the office by coming in late, going home early, and taking long lunches in the middle. Should I grow up, move her in, and change our relationship to fit my work needs? Hmmm…

Next, there’s me. Unsurprisingly, I gained weight over the holiday. I ate like a king, drank like a sailor, and took a vacation from exercise. With ready access to my GF, would I watch my weight? Evidence suggests otherwise. Would I really get out to ride my bike if she, and that delightful perfume, were under my roof? Hey, I’m not sure I want her seeing me sweat and yelling obscenities at the skinny POS that recorded my exercise tapes.

Then there’s her, too. Jenn is an independent woman with her own interests, obligations and exercise routines. I want to be the type of boyfriend that brings her spiked coffee and breakfast in bed; not the type that encourages her to pop P90X into the DVD player. No, that’s for HER time and I like making sure she has that time by staying 2200 miles away.

A wise young woman posted a quote somewhere: “The lust for comfort murders the passions of the soul.” This has me wondering about the nature of a comfort in a relationship. What would I be murdering if I served up a comfortable, lusty breakfast in bed every day?

…let’s not risk it.