If You Don’t Put Music To It, It Isn’t a Song Now, Is It? (or Bueno Moss)

In a sort of follow-up-that-isn’t to my previous post regarding fear and it’s unmistakable grip over my life decisions, I felt the self-indulgent need to showcase the one, and most singular, part of my life that brings me no fear whatsoever. So, in a way, this post could simply be called, “An Ode to Katie, a.k.a The Moss, a.k.a Cricket, a.k.a Pretty Lady, a.k.a Mops, a.k.a My Fiancée and Partner in Cheese, Because She’s the Most Awesome Woman on the Face of the Planet Don’t Bother to Argue Because You Can’t Win.” Which, now that I look at it, is not a simple title at all. Still, it reflects my sentiments well, even if the title I chose reflects her better.

The Moss

The Moss, a.k.a Cricket, a.k.a Pretty Lady, a.k.a Mops, a.k.a My Fiancée and Partner in Cheese.

Writers speak often of a muse. Granted, they tend to do so in the abstract, as an ethereal entity they may speak to, but hopefully never claim to see. After all, we’re already crazy; no need to offer genuine ammunition to the case. However, the Moss is my muse. She is my inspiration. She is the storage of insanity I just didn’t have room for in my crowded head. I’m an introvert, so it’s often difficult to step out of my brain long enough to use my Big Boy Words–you know, the ones that relate to emotional states of being and how important others are to me. It isn’t that I’m only capable of expression in writing, or that I’m not obsessively thinking about my feelings at any given moment, it’s just I do a piss poor job of talking about it, and that far too much is left unsaid. So, in my continued efforts to thwart the fear of just about anything, I want to spend a few moments talking about this lovely woman and what she means to me. You see, the fact of the matter is that I’m in love with the Moss in ways I never knew possible, and the mere thought–just a hint of the idea–that she might not be there when I wake up leaves me utterly heartbroken. After nearly three years together (in one month in fact!), she’s as much a part of me as a limb.

Which is probably not the best way to describe it. So, while I think of something better, here’s a distraction! Just lookit:

Killing spiders is only acceptable if you get cookies for it.

Killing spiders is only acceptable if you get cookies for it.

If you’ve had the privilege of getting to know the Moss, you will understand what I mean when I say I was confident I knew what humor was until I met her. Her brain works in ways I cannot entirely comprehend, which I find both endearing and deeply fascinating. I mean, she’s gorgeous–let’s just get that out there so we can all nod our heads and be amazed at my good fortune–she’s an uber creative and talented photographer, she has the singing voice of a six-year-old, she’s supportive, kind and loving, and her brain comes up with things like this:

We all have our fantasies, even if they're weird.

We all have our fantasies, even if their weird.

As mentioned in my previous post, I’ve not had the best of fortunes in the relationship game. To a great degree, that history left me timid and (after the most recent one) uncertain as to whether I would ever date again. But you don’t get to know the Moss and then want to be away from her. You just don’t. I’m still baffled she was available at all. WHAT ARE YOU PEOPLE NUTS? I mean, thanks and all, but wow. I had no idea, when first we started hanging out, that anything would develop. We’d already known each other for three years, which was weird enough. I’ve never been friends with a girl BEFORE dating her. Novel concept, knowing someone before getting serious.  Who knew? But I was already aware she was a special one. Perhaps that’s why I leaped at the opportunity just to meet up for coffee. Before long, I found myself taken by her quirkiness, her off beat humor, the way she leaves messages like this:

Carrot sticks up nose > bitchy customers

In case you missed it, the formula goes thusly: Carrot sticks up nose > bitchy customers

And that’s why I felt the absolute need to marry her. Not out of the need for ceremony, or importance of the legality of a notarized union, or the idea that one is simply not whole without being somebody’s husband or wife; but because she is one of the best friends a partner could know, I can’t imagine life without her, and no words can adequately state “I want to be with you forever” better than “Will you marry me?”. I have never feared her rejection, nor have I ever had to doubt her devotion. Most importantly, the first Fur Baby, Maggie, took to her as if she’s always loved her anyway, so why not? And, for those with babies–fur or unfurred–it’s vitally important they take to the new person in your life. It didn’t hurt that the Moss came with a camera. Maggie’s a bit of a camera whore, in case you didn’t know. With the blessings of a somewhat moody yet oppressively vain cat, you kind of have to ensure they stay around, right? Also, if they like to buy you presents, there’s no reason to consider a life without them.

It isn't really a problem if you don't acknowledge it, right?

It isn’t really a problem if you don’t acknowledge it, right?

No matter the motivation behind it.

I’ve heard so many sentiments on meeting the Right Person, I can’t even remember more than a few. ‘Soulmate’ comes to mind. That one’s thrown around a lot. “It’s like meeting a mirror reflection of yourself” is another I recall, and still bothers me. So I want to marry myself? Why do I need someone else? I don’t even like mirrors! What does that say about my chances? Me, however … I guess I like to think of us all as pieces of the same puzzle. Sometimes we try to force pieces together because we’re absolutely certain they match, then we have to try to pry them back apart without destroying the edges of the pretty picture of life we’re trying to piece together. Other times, you see the pieces that go together, pair them up and move them aside because, well, duh, we all knew those matched. Then you have the ones you weren’t sure about, but give you no fight, slide surprisingly easy into place, and take a visible place in your periphery because you’re quite proud of yourself for noting it. Pieces merge, then group with others, then begin to form the whole. I don’t know what the Moss and I are in the puzzle equation–I like to believe the latter–but I know I’m proud of it. Proud of her. Proud to be displayed as part of this union. I’m damn fortunate, really, and I’m well aware. If Karma is a real thing, then she’s a significant pay off for the good I’ve offered up over the years.

If that isn’t enough, there’s always this:

What? They aren't eating it.

What? They aren’t eating it.

Everyone who gets to know the Moss loves her. But I get to keep her. I get to come home to her. I get to write about her, share ideas with her, listen to her silly silly songs, and concoct awesome adventures for our future. A future that doesn’t scare me. A future that is going to be a bit crazy in that way normality can never dare to offer. A future that is easily the best thing I’ll ever have.

I love my pretty lady.

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