The Art of Being Intertwined

Well, I lied. Niches are dumb. I don't really have one. As a feeble-minded woman, I have different things to write about depending on the day. There will inevitably be entertaining stories about my job sprinkled throughout, it's a big part of my life. Someday when I have an ipad and a stylus, I'll draw bad comics to go with the blog and then people will read it. I'm not going to lie, I only read the ones with drawings. No shame.


Today, the subject that's been weighing on my mind most heavily is relationships.

Maybe it's the "Bridezillas" marathon that I had this morning.

Maybe it's the argument I had with my boyfriend a few hours ago.

Probably the latter, but "Bridezillas" will make a good cultural reference for later on if I can't think of a better one. I almost always think of a better one.

Connor and I have been dating for almost a year. Both of us have been in long-term relationships before, every one of which met it's own unique demise. We are far from seasoned professionals. However, we have the two vital things necessary for a happy relationship - friendship and chemistry - and things are going really, really well.

They still are. I know I said we had a fight this morning, but it was resolved and we ended up talking for an embarrassingly long time about ridiculous stuff and making each other laugh.

One of the best things about my relationship with Connor is that we can both be happy alone. It took me about eighteen years to figure out how to be happy on my own, and I still have to remind myself every once in a while. (Okay, often.) The fact that we can both be happy alone and choose to be happy together is what makes it so wonderful.

There was a fight - possibly our first fight - that happened about three months into the relationship. We were angry and tired and rashly "called it quits." I attempted a goofy gesture - obviously successful - to win him back, which ended with a poorly drawn picture of the two of us holding each other, our limbs becoming vines and growing together so that we were entwined. It was a reference to a song by The Hush Sound, but I still meant it. See below for a shitty re-creation.

The actual drawing is not pornographic. Everything I draw on Paint just looks like genitalia. 

That being said, I've been thinking about what it takes to become fully intertwined with someone, and why I don't ever doubt our relationship.

It takes years for vines to form around each other and produce a stronger vine. I look at my paternal grandparents, who had what I hope to have someday in a marriage. By the time I was born and got to know them, they were professionals - they knew exactly how the other would react in any given situation, they knew each other better than anyone else in the world, and it was still fresh and exciting because they continued to fulfill their lifelong dreams, only they did it side by side. Of course, that doesn't mean that they didn't have conflicts or "the same fight" over and over again. They did. When it came down to it, though, Grandma and Grandpa could go to Pastries by T for breakfast every morning and still have things to talk about over their toast. They were always learning, always reading, always discovering, and because they were with each other, they had opportunities and experiences that they never would have had otherwise.


Vines take years to form. Ivy takes longer than six months to reach the roof of a house. I'm in it for the long haul, though, and it's only a matter of time before Connor and I can function flawlessly, sinuously if you will, contouring to fit each other while still maintaining our own distinctive shapes.

Abed Nadir once said, "When you really know who you are and what you like about yourself, changing for other people isn't such a big deal."

Abed, you're a god.