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Dear Breakup Girl,

How do you know when the fat lady's singing, so to speak? I have been in a relationship for the past year with a guy I've been great friends with for more than three years. He's 28, I'm nearly 26. We became friends, though I suspected he liked me, but I was casually dating Someone Else at the time.

But Patient-In-Love Guy waits. And waits. We become great friends and hang out all the time ... even while I'm still dating SE. (This, of course, does not bother SE, who is still in love with -- and perhaps even seeing -- his ex the entire time we're dating.) I feel nothing--he's just a friend. And PILG was what you'd term a Loftbuilder. A generous man whom I had to fight off paying the check, fixing my furnace, showing up at my door with a TV antenna after I mentioned casually that I needed one. etc.

Due to a crazy turn of events/coincidence, we end up living...next door to each other. By this time, I've broken up with SE and am not interested in anything with the opposite sex. But PILG waits. And I start to realize that he's a nice guy. Why ... he's a great guy! And he's damn good looking. And funny. And smart. And not as cocky as I thought. And a great friend. And he can cook! He owns cleaning supplies ... and uses them! He's a ton of fun and makes me laugh. And he's actually very deep and soulful. And we get along amazingly. And ... well, somehow we end up (ahem) "together." So then he says, "Oh, I've been waiting for this I've been in love with you since the moment I met you. I always knew you'd come around. I want to be with you forever" etc. etc. etc. Which sends me on a one-way trip to FREAKOUTVILLE. I push him away, say I need space and time, that I have issues and various other buzzwords.

I should mention now that PILG has a three year old daughter, the most awesome kid whom I have adored from Day #1. But in the back of my mind I think, "Wow. Am I ready to think about getting into something where I might have the slightest possibility of becoming the Evil Stepmother (thankyouverymuch, Walt Disney!) or where I would also have to deal with all those ex- dynamics?

...OK, so it's been a year. And though I am not one of those gals who has had her all-but-groomless-wedding planned since age six, I've started to really get used to the idea of being here forever. With him. With kid (two weeks a month). My family, friends, and everyone else adores him. Says, "Wow, you're so lucky that he's The One." We talk marriage. We've picked out The Ring. He's asked my parents for their "Blessing." We talk about what we want in a marriage and in life and in each other and in ourselves -- these amazing, life-changing conversations I've never even thought of having with anyone on this planet, because it was [insert buzzword here] or I needed [insert buzzword here]. I know I love him more than anything on this planet, and vice versa. (The man took care of me last month when I had a SEVERE case of the chicken pox--if you can love someone, while they look like a hideous troll who hasn't brushed her teeth for four days, then there has to be something there.)

Amazing, fantastic ... until ...lately, we've started fighting a lot. A LOT. At each other's throats over stupid things. We both say evil, hurtful things in misguided, one-up attempts at resolution. He says he needs space to work out his "issues" before we can get married. I think that burying your head in the sand won't "work it out."

Still, we make up. Beautifully.

Is it normal to go through hard times like this? Before you settle down? Isn't this the period where everything's wonderful? I can't sleep, I can't eat. Can you look into your crystal ball and let me know if this is normal? And if this is something that, if we make it through, will make our lives (and possible marriage) a lot better? Or is this a prelude to a Dead End? Maybe you know, maybe you don't. But at this point, I'd settle for a maybe.

-- Skinny Insomniac

PS: Just for the record, six months ago PILG helped me find a new apartment as our collective landlords were psycho. The apartment? Came equipped with two lofts! Maybe that's a sign.

PPS: God, I hope I'm not on the Breakup List.

Dear Skinny Insomniac,

Don't have the exact transcript of your arguments (though "we make up...beautifully" is a promising point); can't give you a clairvoyant yes/no on your future (though "life-changing conversations," "chicken pox:" also promising).

But I can, with relative certainty, give you this good news: girlie, this is the bad part! Of course it is! You've got it backwards. The closer you move to the M-word, the more wires you trip. M as in Minefield. Not even the handiest loftbuilder can defuse them all.

Actually, a friend of mine calls this titration, which isn't quite right scientifically, but I like the sound of it. She says: "No, 'titration' is not a new, lightweight metal alloy for bikes. It's the reality check process: two steps forward and one step back. You go barreling ahead and then you screeech to a halt and back up a bit." Forward, back, more, less, until you get the concentration of your feelings/commitment just right.

So you've assembled all the goodies -- the ring, the blessing -- now you just have to do, like, it. Act, not just accessorize. Of course you're freaking out. And for whatever reason, you're taking out your freaking out on each other.

Might be worth looking at what you're clashing about, if only because the issues precipitating out are likely either (a) dumbass weightless fear reflexes, or (b) the stuff you really need to handle before you take the leap. Beyond that, try to make sure that the fighting's fair, that the "space" is defined, and that the SI's got the wisdom to know the difference between warts and dealbreakers. "Work" and "magic" aren't opposites; they work together, SI. As "maybes" go, that's pretty sturdy. Now curl up in that loft with some snacks, and then get some sleep.

Love,
Breakup Girl

 
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