Me: “Aw, my mom’s friend wrote me a really nice email. I donated to her son’s charity and she sent me such a lovely thank you note.”
Eric: “That’s nice. Look! <shows me his phone> Here’s a video about a collar you can put on a cat that translates it’s purr into a human voice.”
The important thing is that I know how to WITHDRAW the cash.
You know how in the movies when a character picks up a long lost friend or lover from the airport, and they spot them from afar and begin waving frantically and dramatically, with a wide, shit-eating grin on their face, because it’s just been so long and they’ve been so far away from each other, they can’t contain their enthusiasm?
That’s how Eric waves to me when I’m in bed and he’s on the couch.
We live in a studio.
Although I’m not sure why he thought he had any power in the beginning.
“We are two pees in a pod.”
— Eric, in his anniversary card to me.
Spelling mistake unintentional.
But noted.
In reference to the classroom…
Eric and I, discussing a possible trip to Asia and the risk of Zika virus, in terms of future pregnancy …
Eric: “Well, this is an awkward conversation to have at this point.”
Me: “I don’t feel awkward at all!”
Eric: “Oh.”
Eric: “Yeah me neither.”
These are the kinds of stories you will hear if you make the mistake of asking your teacher significant other how her day is going.
Kudos to Eric for perfecting the art of pretending to care. He really did ask some stellar follow-up questions.
This one goes out to the supportive loved ones of people who struggle with mental illness– friends, family, significant others– ALL of you who stick with us through the ups and downs.
We know we’re not always easy. But you love us anyway, listen when it must be unbearably hard to listen, and check in even when you know the response will not be positive.
And most important, you keep us laughing.
Thank you.
Eric, bless his soul, offered to escort me on today’s walk/jog, as he could see, thanks to a current low-level bout with depression, I was struggling to get started.
Three minutes in…
Me <internally>: This fucking sucks. I hate that I can’t run. I hate that all I can get my body to do is this pathetic, sluggish, barely-trot.
Eric (bouncing along next to me, 100% genuine and full of enthusiasm): “Wait– isn’t this running?”
No.
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