Solitude Part Two

I began to develop an appreciation for Public Relations. I wanted to promote; put on grand events, share with the world why so and so was so great. On a whim, I changed my major; left the College of Arts and Sciences to go down the hill to the School of Communications. I was excited about my new plans, it just felt right. However, Mason hit the roof. To him, that was the equivalent of being a glorified party planner. I couldn’t seriously believe I could make it in that field because just liking something doesn’t pay the bills. I was too capricious; jumping up to chase something without thinking it through. I’d probably change my major again next semester and wind up becoming a super senior. When I joked that his finance career could support us both, the look in his eyes told me he didn’t think so. Said the days of the man bringing home the bacon were over.

I carried on in my new major. Became PR director/officer/vice-president of every organization I joined. If the title had PR in it, I went after it. My days were filled with trekking back and forth across the yard and down the hill, my planner filled with meetings, classes, and appointments. Not to mention the latest part time job I had to support my shopping habit. My PR campaigns increased the honors society visibility on campus, the fundraisers I worked on were successful, Communications Student Council events rivaled the others on campus. I even made The Who’s who list senior year. Mason? He yawned at my accomplishments. His case studies in the School of Business were more worthy of accolades than the turnout at our state club’s general body meeting.

When we argued, it was mostly him telling me how things should be. I was always more lover than fighter, giving in and saying whatever needed to be said to end the argument. Whenever I tried to bring up a point in my defense, he quickly made it invalid. If I was the one upset, I’d wind up feeling worse in the end or so damn twisted I didn’t know which way was up; he had impressive arguing and debate skills. After a while, I realized the easiest way out was to accept defeat/blame/fault or whatever; we got to the make-up sex much more quickly that way. As he would hold me afterwards, I would smile, glad the subject of debate was forgotten. Until the next time, when it would be brought up again to add fuel to the fire.

But, I loved him and he loved me, simple as that. I wanted to be his everything. Mason’s girl. Mason’s wife. I helped him study, even though I had no interest in managerial economics. I typed papers, cooked in his apartment-style dorm, stayed up with him so he could word his PowerPoint presentations just right, rub his back, washed his drawers when his only options were to wear his jock strap or walk around campus with his balls jiggling and free.

We were a complementary pair. I was the laidback, cool, go with the flow type and he was the antithesis of me. We took cute pictures, laughed at the same jokes, fed each other, and finished the other’s sentences. We settled into a comfortable relationship. Even though we had our faults, like any other couple, we loved each other. We were meant to be.



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