Like most whirlwind romances, familiarity bred boredom. What was supposed to be a marriage built on history, compatibility and passion quickly dissolved into a chore. It was a lackluster charade riddled with monotonous conversation and fake orgasms. Sure, I felt secure. But I also felt suffocated and stuck. I was losing more of myself each and every day that I slept with those dead-end dreams.
(My colorful history has taught me a lot about compatibility and passion. The most important lesson, which I am continuing to learn every day, is that you cannot force either. Furthermore, although it is difficult to find one or the other; it is practically fucking impossible to find both. So when you do, wrap your legs around that shit and hold on for dear life.)
I'm lucky to have found Psychology. Psychology feels effortless. Psychology "gets" me, and I don't mean that in an ironic sense. Psychology does not thrive on drama or judge me unfairly. Psychology feels like home. I want to shout it's name from the rooftops. I want to make out with it in public and make my friends sick with jealousy. I am more than content falling asleep with Psychology every night and waking up to it every morning. Psychology is my white picket fence. I want to have a long, fruitful life with it.
However, I will continue to fuck English on the side.
Welcome back, Blog. I've missed you.
