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Irrational Imperfections and Infuriations from an idyllic infatuation

I’ve been “dating” (As in we like to include the whole awkward three weeks of  “I like you but were going to pretend like I don’t and be harder to read then Bella in Twilight stage) this guy for about 2 months. And I have to say, things are pretty great. Were totally in that sickening new couple stage-
 *Cue eye rolls*
Where we just can’t seem to fathom how awesome the other one is. The good thing is that we both are mature enough to realize that we are in this stage. We both know that there will come a time, sooner or later, where we will periodically contemplate ways to commit homicide and other horrible forms of torture felony free. As for right now, though-were pretty happy go lucky.
That’s not to say that I haven’t gotten frustrated with him. There have been many times where I would’ve loved to add a pinch of arsenic in his morning coffee, etc. (Like the time he told me I looked like a homosexual snake when I am Frustrated) But I have to say I distinctly remember 1  occasion where anger literally oozed from every cell in my being.

Within the last week we’ve made the decision to rent a small apartment in his hometown for the summer.
*Cue spirit fingers*
(This is not such a big step, considering the fact that we met because we both lived in the same dormitory, so were used to living closely.)

Troy is great. He’s very understanding, very reliable, and very mature. We’re like yin and yang to be honest. But bless his heart, No matter how hard he may try, Troy may never understand the vast oddities of my mind, Nor the extremities of my anger.
The truth is there is a deep and powerful force residing inside of me. Maybe it’s because I’m a Leo, who knows. Maybe it’s left-over from childhood. The possibilities are endless. Either way, it’s there, lurking in the dark, waiting for its next chance to rise and attack…
Come to find out, My anger wouldn’t have to wait too long to showcase itself in my new relationship.

 

We had found the Babylon of college-kid apartments, small, rinky-dink, in a great location, and cheap.
 
He was thrilled. Ecstatic. His eyes were reminisce of kaleidoscopes, all lit up with hope and wonder and what not. Like a kid on Christmas, really.
 And I’ll even admit that I was too, for a second.

Until I saw the Lamps. The god-awful, Italian-mob granny, stained glass, dead flower looking lamp. It was horrid. Hanging in the corner, magnificently shining in a butterscotch hue as if it had just been whipped up by Betty Crocker herself, but instead giving off an air of regurgitated bourbon. It tugged on my nerves, and the longer I watched his happiness- the longer he laid there in ignorance of the hideous swinging bourbon ball, the more infuriated I became.

 

I couldn’t tell you why, realistically. After all, it was just a lamp.

 

Even so, When Troy turned to me with eagerness for my approval, I couldn’t help but to rob him of his euphoria.

Upon seeing my expression, his child-like joy dropped quicker than a thun-thun-a.

 

“I Cant.” was the first thing I said.

 

Which was followed by a ten minute analysis of all the wonderful positive things this apartment had to offer our budding romance.

 

I begged, I pleaded for him to forget about the apartment. Excuse after excuse poured from my lips as I frantically searched for a better reason as to why I couldn’t live there. He just didn’t understand.

The wrath of Satan leaped from my lips as I cut him off.

“I JUST CAN’T! THAT LAMP! LOOK AT THE LAMP!”

I screamed.

 

“The lamp? Honey, that can be taken down, see? It unplugs. We can take it down and get new ones.”

Rationally, this is an acceptable answer. But I never claimed to be rational.

 

I absolutely refused.

 

I wanted to scream. I wanted to smack him and scream that this irate creature was the real me. I simplified the question of what nasty corner of my mind this anger had come from by rationalizing that it was his fault for not understanding. He needed to accept the fact that these lamps brought that out in me. I was truly deeply upset by these lamps, and by the fact that Troy refused to accept my reasoning.

After about five minutes of Troy showcasing the apartment, I furiously rolled over, Cold shouldering him. Betrayal struck me like a switch on the rear of a red-headed step child.

He had made his decision. He had succumbed to the persuasions of the dark and evil lamp, forcing me to swallow my pride and accept that I was alone in my battles.
Lamp-1; Allyssa-0.

This probably lasted a solid 30 seconds before he put the tablet up, hugged my icy, stone-like form, and asked me to take a walk and cool off. He was generally concerned at the amount of stress the hanging balls of doom had inflicted upon me.
Angrily, I threw on a jacket as he opened my door for me. Grabbing me by my shoulders, Troy forced my forehead to come into contact with his lips.  He smiled down at my furrowed brow.
Just like that, my anger melted away, and I began to laugh at how ridiculously angry I had gotten, all over a silly little lamp. I apologized, as I grabbed his hand to begin our late night walk.  All was right in the world of Troy and Allyssa again.
Lamp-0; Allyssa-1.

 

I appreciate our relationship because I honestly feel like he is the first person who has truly challenged me to appreciate the tiniest details in life. Even if he had bought me an apartment chalk full hideous lamps, He would try every day to make it a home for me. No matter how irrational I acted, Troy maintained a positive attitude. Optimism is often, in my opinion, the best tool in a successful relationship.
I realize that these frustrations are small speed bumps compared to the arguments that we will undoubtedly face.  But I have such an enormous amount of hope in our ability to realize just how meniscal certain aspects are, in the grand scheme of things. What matters is that we care for each other very much. We are very blessed to have the opportunities we have, and I’m eternally grateful to have a friend like troy. For these small; Yet ridiculously great things, I am thankful.

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