Don’t Blink

{ November 20, 2009 @ 9:30 pm } · { coping with Schizoaffective Disorder }
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I was heading into the city on the Kennedy this morning and I caught a panoramic view of the beautiful skyscrapers that paint the Chicago skyline. It was a clear fall day and the buildings looked majestic across the blue sky. I forgot about the stressful wedding preparations and job applications that are constantly hanging over my head these days and admired the Windy City in all its glory. Then a song came on the radio, I was tuned into the country station, a habit I had picked up since my two years at Beloit College in rural Wisconsin where country music was a staple.

A song called Don’t Blink came on and I reflected on some of the lyrics: “Just like that you’re six years old and you take a nap and you wake up and you’re 25 and you’re high school sweetheart become your wife…” I felt like this verse was appropriate for me at the present time. I feel like just yesterday my dad was teaching me how to throw a curve ball in the back yard and in about two weeks I’ll be married. Where has the time gone?

I’ve known Jamie for almost two years and to think that two years can fly by like they have is kind of scary. I remember meeting her, I remember my first impressions of her and to this day sometime when I look at her, it’s as if we just got together. The flame of our love has never burned so strongly. The end of the song goes: “100 years goes faster than you think, Don’t Blink.” My brother-in-law told me yesterday as we were doing some maintenance work on one of the family properties that I should try to take a step back at the wedding and take everything in. I thought that was good advice but I’ve heard that such reflection can be quite daunting given the constant chaos and excitement at big weddings.

So I guess this morning was a time of reflection, a time to take a step back and not only admire the city, but admire my life and the turns it has taken over the last two years. It seems every turn has been for the better and I truly feel like Jamie and I are soul mates. You hear it all the time, but even through the constant confusion and stress surrounding the wedding, Jamie and I find time to take it all in.

Tonight as she dropped me off at my brother-in-law’s house so we could get more work done, we embraced in the driveway. We kissed and comforted each other and the passion and love between us is as strong as it has ever been.

So I’ll try not to blink, but if I do and I wake up years down the road next to Jamie, my love and soul mate, I will consider myself extremely fortunate. Life does go by faster than you think, but with a beautiful and loving person by my side, I’m not worried.

My Friend the Murderer

{ November 17, 2009 @ 2:37 pm } · { coping with Schizoaffective Disorder }
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So I’ve been having these random thoughts. I’m driving home from work and my mind wanders to the face of an old friend. I befriended this guy named Rob when I was doing an outpatient program just after my diagnosis. We were both staying in a halfway house in Chicago. We became fast friends because we had a lot in common. We were about the same age, in our mid-twenties, from the suburbs of Chicago and die-hard Chicago sports fans. His diagnosis was bipolar and he had a history of substance abuse. We would spend our days in therapy groups and then head to ESPN Zone at night to watch sports. We were both very serious about our respective recoveries, ordering cokes at the bar restaurant and discussing triggers and warning signs in our therapy groups. We were good for each other and kept the other on the straight and narrow. Now, I think about reconnecting with Rob. I see his face and hear his voice as I drive the deserted city streets at night. So what’s the problem with remembering Rob? He is currently doing time in a maximum security prison. That’s the scary part. One morning while I was writing for the Sun-Times, I opened the second page of the paper and saw Rob’s mug shot, clear as day. The accompanying article described a gruesome murder. Rob snapped one day and killed his mom. bludgeoned her to death. I sat there in the office for like ten minutes without moving, I don’t even remember if I was breathing. I couldn’t share this news with anyone because no one in the office knew of my checkered and psychotic past. When I went to my weekly therapy session at the same place Rob and I attended group therapy years ago, one of the staff members asked me if I’d heard what Rob did. She offered support but I was frozen, I didn’t really know what to do or how to react. It turns out Rob went back to abusing substances, this time more substantially. He was dealing and doing cocaine before he stopped attending groups at the rehabilitation center. When I knew him, he was a conscientious and insightful person, trying desperately to put his life back together which meant patching up a rocky relationship with his mother. I never knew him to be the angry, psychotic killer he morphed into. It was very troubling. I got a text from him a few years ago on my birthday. The fact that he remembered my birthday was incredible. I thought it was nice and didn’t think much of it. I still have his cell phone number in my phone. I guess I should delete it considering he won’t have access to a cell phone, probably ever. I think about bumping into him on the street or at rehab as I used to. Then I think about him locked up for the rest of his life. He will never see the light of day as a free man. It’s awful to think about. Our journeys as people with mental illnesses take us on roller coaster rides. My journey took me into the life of a troubled young man in whom I saw a great deal of promise. I never would have imagined Rob committing murder, let alone harming someone he loved. I still can’t talk about it much but I see Rob as the victim as well in this scenario. Obviously his mother suffered in this instance but he is a troubled and lost soul. I knew Rob and I know that when he killed his own mother, he was a different person, a victim of extreme psychosis. Some of us have been there. Though I never became violent during an episode, I did end up in a stranger’s house and spent a weekend in a Texas prison. It is apparent Rob went off the deep end and the most upsetting thing for me is the realization that had he continued on the path we started together, with regular therapy and daily medication, he never would have ended up with a life sentence. Part of connecting with the mentally ill community is coming in contact with individuals who just can’t right the ship. I’m thankful that I’m cascading along a smooth surface with a supportive crew in my corner. Unfortunately, Rob was traveling along a very different path.

Summer Reflections

{ November 12, 2009 @ 12:10 pm } · { coping with Schizoaffective Disorder }
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[embed]http://www.randolph.k12.ma.us/Pages/RandolphPS_Students/040E3F57-007EA7AB.0/SummerSun.gif[/embed]

Over the weekend we enjoyed beautiful 60 degree weather which is unheard of for Chicago in November. On Saturday I woke up and looked out the window–it was a perfect day for a run outside. Jamie was up already, catching up on her TV shows from the week that had passed. I threw on a pair of shorts and headed out to the streets for a late morning jog.

The sidewalks were packed with people enjoying the gorgeous day. I trekked along, admiring the picturesque trees filled with bright-colored leaves. I was definitely in my element, cruising at a decent pace. I have been running consistently for the last four years. I competed in my first half marathon two summers ago and I plan to run the Chicago marathon in the future. Lately it’s just been three to four mile-runs a few times a week.

Running has been an antidote to depression and isolation for me. No matter what mood I’m in when I wake up, if a get a good run in, the rest of the day is pleasant and enjoyable. I feel accomplished and motivated after a run. My jogs are often a time a great reflection. I think back on the week that was and forward to upcoming events. 

When I run in the fall or winter, I always reflect back on the summer. The summer is my favorite time of year. I am very active and always enjoy the weather at the lake, or on the softball diamond, or during a morning walk to breakfast with Jamie, I love everything about it.

At the half-way point of my run the other day, I started to think back to the summer, and to my dismay, my mind was blank. I remembered nothing. I know I got engaged this past summer and I enjoyed good times with friends and family, but no images flashed before my eyes, no poignant moments, no times and places that I could envision with joy and love. I thought to myself, is this how my life is going to go by from now on? Is this a sign of age? Are things changing because I am committing my life to another person?

I don’t necessarily blame the lapse on my engagement and the many stressful moments that followed, but what does it mean that I can no longer see myself in the moment, on a morning jog, at the lakefront, or at a Cubs game on a beautiful summer afternoon?

Unfortunately I don’t have the answers. I want to continue to enjoy my life. I don’t want to wake up years down the line and realize that my life has flown by. I hope my celebrated summer moments return. I hope I can envision good times like scenes from a heartfelt movie. But I don’t know if that will be the case anymore. For now, the summer is a vacant black whole, suspended in time and space without substance or meaning.

Is the Blog Helping or Hurting???

{ November 7, 2009 @ 5:15 pm } · { coping with Schizoaffective Disorder }
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I had another session with Dr. Levinson and we discussed Jamie’s reactions to some of my blog posts. She often reads my posts during the week and then confronts me on some of the things I write about. Sometimes I am apprehensive to let her read certain things but I don’t want to tell her she cannot peruse the site. After all, we are getting married and she feels that part of our impending union means sharing ourselves with one another, completely.

I’m often concerned that when she reads posts about symptoms that I experience along the way, she will fear that I will suffer another psychotic break during our long life together. She even asked me the other day what my prognosis is. I told her that as long as I stay on the effective dose of medicine I am on and continue with my therapy, I am preventing a possible relapse by buying into these safeguards.

Dr. Levinson posed a suggestion to me that had me deep in thought these last few days. He said, “Do you think it’s such a good idea to have Jamie reading your blog?” I told him that I would have to think about that. He continued to say that people write diaries and go to therapy in an effort to keep certain, usually emotionally charged issues, to themselves. “Isn’t the blog like a diary?” He asked. I concluded that I wouldn’t want people reading my diary, so why do I want Jamie reading my blog?

As we were driving to our friends’ place last night, I told Jamie what Dr. Levinson had suggested. He is so good and often so on point that it is hard for me to let one of his suggestions go by without consideration. I asked Jamie if my blog posts upset her at all. She thought for a moment and then said that some of my posts do in fact upset her. For example, my recent post about my lack of close friends since my diagnosis made her feel bad for me. ”When you love someone,” she started, “You don’t want him to hurt and I think that the fact that you don’t want to connect with your old friends hurts you in a way.”

I countered, “Maybe you shouldn’t read every post then, if it makes you upset…”

“But even when I do get upset, the posts help me understand you better. I can get a glimpse into your head.”

“Has your perception about me changed since you started reading my blog?” I asked. That to me was the million-dollar question. I often feel that when Jamie reads an especially personal post, that she will in some way think differently about me.

“My perception about you has in fact changed,” she said. I immediately felt this sinking feeling when she said that, wondering how I was going to continue posting personal things with Jamie having full access to this site. Then she turned to me and said, “I think you are a stronger person than I thought you were before I began reading.” She was looking deeply at me and smiling. I smiled back and gave her a kiss. So my conclusion was that the blog has in fact drawn us closer together, and the good doctor might have been off with one of his suggestions for the first time.

I think the blog has inspired countless pensive moments as I think each week what I want to contribute. Jamie’s access to it allows her to understand me better as a person, and if she feels that the blog has brought us closer together then I don’t think it’s a negative thing for her to read what I write. There is no a better way for one person to learn about another than through personal journaling. When I post on this site, I am contributing prose about the inner workings of my mind, I give an anonymous audience, and Jamie, free admittance to the dark corners of my brain, and after each post, I feel invigorated, unburdened and a certain peace of mind that lasts me until something else comes up that can be dissected through written prose. Jamie and I are growing closer to together in so many wonderful ways, and it seems this blog is one of those many ways.

Dinner Conversation

{ November 4, 2009 @ 5:15 pm } · { coping with Schizoaffective Disorder }
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Jamie and I had a nice dinner last night at a northside diner. We had met with the Rabbi previous to our meal where we discussed the meaning of marriage, traditional viewpoints about the institution, and gave the Rabbi our letters to each other. He will read them and discuss them during our next and final meeting before the wedding.

We were both in good spirits as we entered the warm cozy restaurant off the cool November streets. It seemed like Jamie had something on her mind as our conversation ventured to my recent blog posts and the upcoming task of applying to over 60 area high schools for a teaching position next fall. “I want you to tell me things, I don’t want to have to read them on your blog,” she said, referring to a recent post I wrote about my lack of close friends following my illness. “Okay,” I agreed.

Then she went off on another tangent… “I don’t think you realize how much potential you have. You should never sell yourself short,” she commented. I retorted that I have always been plagued by self doubts but they never get in the way of me trying something new and accomplishing goals. I often approach a challenge with thoughts about failing but once I put my mind to it, I always succeed. I explained to her that it’s just a natural process and inner workings of my complex mind.

Then she got out what I think she was intending to say all along, “You have to help me out these next few weeks.” Of course she was referring to the time leading up to our wedding next month, but I did not take her request well. It sounded like a criticism to me, and I took it personally, as though I’m not pulling my weight around the apartment. I think it’s the athlete in me, whenever a coach says you need to do more, it is always a reference to some way in which you are falling short and following Jamie’s comment, I felt that she took me out of the game and placed me in my rightful place on the bench, to watch the others from the sidelines.

I am very self-critical, and although she insisted that she wasn’t referring to anything I was or was not doing, I took it as her saying that I was not fulfilling my role as a fiance and was emerging into an absentee mate. I looked off and she knew I was deep in thought. “What are you thinking about, honey?” She asked. “Nothing,” I said, “I will help more.”

When we got home I sprang into action–I took out the garbage and started cleaning up the messy kitchen table when I was struck with a deep thought. Really, it was inspiration for my speech at the wedding. I thought about my own father, my role model and exemplary husband. I thought about my high school years and how I was always trying to break free of my parents’ restraints. Then I thought about my adulthood and how I am eternally striving to be just like my parents. My father always helped around the house by cooking meals and setting up the sprinklers, but my chores are quite different from the chores he had in an upperclass suburb of Chicago. Because both my parents are doctors, they could afford to hire a nanny to watch us, do the laundry and the cleaning so when my parents got home from work each day, there was very little to do in the form of household tasks. Jamie has a nice job doing event planning for a non-profit company and I am entering a life as a high school teacher, so we can’t afford a suburban nanny or cleaning lady, the many chores fall on us. I’ve never felt spoiled before, my parents always instilled  a strong work ethic in me and my brother, and they taught us that we have to work hard for what we have, but in this sense, I guess my sheltered suburban upbringing acutally did me some harm.

What I’m trying to say is that I don’t have a model for the way in which I am supposed to sweep the floors, clean the bathroom, mow the lawn, take out the garbage, empty the dishwasher, do the laundry, make the bed and the endless list of other household needs. I can’t picture my dad doing all of this because he never did. I will have to pave my own way, create my own path and go it alone.

The Friendship Conundrum

{ November 3, 2009 @ 1:59 pm } · { coping with Schizoaffective Disorder }
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Jamie was reading my last post and I became embarrassed when she got to the part about me having very few friends since the onset of my illness. This has been a sore spot for me for quite some time. When we were drawing up our respective guest lists for the upcoming wedding, and her list was long and distinguished while mine was extremely short; I couldn’t help but to long for a larger peer group. It got to the point where I would meet new people, at work or at school, and immediately want to befriend them and invite them to our wedding so that I had more than 25 friends coming.

The truth of the matter is that since I was diagnosed, I lost touch with many old friends, fearing that remaining connected with them and continuing my previous lifestyle would result in relapse.

I brought the issue up to my doctor at our last session and he said that most couples are close with only one or the other’s group of friends, and usually the men sacrifice their peer group for the wives’ social network. Jamie wouldn’t desert her friends for anything, they have been there for her through thick and thin. They were by her side when she lost her dad a couple of years ago, and it’s safe to say that her companions aren’t going anywhere. So that brings us to my group of friends, or what’s left of them.

When I hit rock bottom in 2003 after a psychotic year away from home, I fought through my predicament on my own. I was embarrassed about what I was going through and, moreover, I didn’t think that my core group of friends were equipped with the depth or understanding to appreciate or understand the dramatic turns that my life had taken. I know that outlook involves a great deal of projection, but I completely cut myself off from the group, which remains close, to get myself right again.

Jamie often asks if I will ever reconnect with my old friends. Because she is such a social butterfly, I think she would love to meet them. She is so secure and confident in social situations, I really envy that about her; and while I know she would impress them with her grace and beauty, I feel as though I have missed out on so much these last few years that the real ties have been severed.

I have several close friends from grad school. I saw one of them over the weekend. But it seems that I am desperately hanging on to these relationships because I truly fear that I will be left all alone if I don’t. I would chalk this situation up as one of the drawbacks of living with a mental illness. I’ve definitely become more inhibited and closed off as a result of my diagnosis. There were times in the past when I was the life of the party, now I sit back and let the party happen without me.

I don’t know what the solution should be. When I bring this up, Dr. Levinson and Jamie both say, simply, “Why don’t you give your old friends a call and reconnect,” as if it were that easy. I don’t think they realize that reconnecting would mean a spate of new temptations and hurdles. I really question whether I would be strong enough to resist the temptations and overcome the new hurdles. For now, and maybe for the rest of my adult life, I am caught between Scilla and Charybdis, as Sting put it once. Caught between a lonely existence with a few social outlets and an exciting life with many peers and fast times.

Could I have been anyone other than me?

{ October 28, 2009 @ 12:24 pm } · { coping with Schizoaffective Disorder }
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The title is a line from one of my favorite Dave Mathews songs. I think about it a lot. I think about how things would have turned out had I not gotten sick. What my life would be like. I think maybe I would have continued in the same circle of friends I had in high school. I probably would have married someone I knew from growing up, as is the case with many of my high school friends today. I might not have married, I might have continued my serial dating life that occupied my existence through early college when I started to first have symptoms. I probably would have continued to drink heavily on weekends, like I did through college.

Perhaps, most importantly, I don’t know if I’d be any better off. That is to say, I don’t know if I’d be a more content person had I not been diagnosed with this illness. A few things that the illness has inspired in me is a focus on staying physically healthy, (staying away from drugs and alcohol and exercising regularly), and a focus on keeping in touch with my deepest and darkest feelings. I would have to say that through my young adulthood, I was a very shallow person. What the illness and regular therapy have afforded me is the ability to get in touch with my inner self. One of my shortcomings today is attributing the same shallow qualities to my high school friends because I am out of touch with them and it is easier to be judgmental than to get to know them as adults. I don’t think this is fair, but it gives me a reason to avoid this group because, deep down, I feel that reconnecting with them would cause me to relapse. I do know, from hanging out with them a few times over the past few years, that they continue to drink heavily and party hard, which are things I can’t have in my life.

So what kind of person would I be? I think for one, I would have more friends. Saddled with my illness has caused me to more or less isolate myself socially. I have a few close friends and that’s about it, but I think that is one of the few drawbacks of the illness. The illness has inspired many positive changes in my life such as staying motivated, (back in the day it was hard for me to focus on anything academic, I just wanted to play sports and drink beer), being introspective, and exploring a meaningful relationship with Jamie, (before the illness presented itself, I would date girls but get bored quickly and move on). So the illness has brought about many positive changes. It has made me want to spend my life in a devoted relationship with a companion with whom I hope to spend the rest of my days.

Many times I feel burdened by the illness–by the way it induces long hours of sleep, by the way it keeps me from socializing with my core group of friends, the way it spurs doubts in my head when I take on a new challenge and begs the question: can you handle this and the illness at the same time? But most of the time I feel blessed to have discovered my true self aside from having the illness. It has inspired an introspection that I did not enjoy previously and it has made me a more health conscious person. Without the illness, I would be a different person, but I really don’t know if I would like that person any more than I like the man I’ve become.

Family Conflicts

{ October 22, 2009 @ 1:07 pm } · { Uncategorized }
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Well… I have a lot to say today. I just had my weekly session with my therapist where we discussed a recent fight Jamie and I had in the car on our way to my cousin’s birthday. It wasn’t just a fight, but rather an all out war where we were swinging at each other trying to draw blood (not literally of course). We don’t fight a lot. When Jamie gets confrontational, usually as a result of stress from work or our upcoming wedding boiling over, I absorb the jabs and try to let the situation roll off my back, staying true to my laid back demeanor. This time, however, I felt the need to defend myself.

The fight itself was about something trivial, like me not cleaning out the dishwasher, but it wasn’t the topic that so offended me as it was the way she seemed to attack my character. I was thinking ahead to when we start a family, and how I don’t want my kids to see me as a punching bag. When I brought this up to my dad as we were doing some yard work last weekend, he said that every family has its own culture and dynamic. He asked me if I remember him and my mother fighting often–I said I definitely remember times when they would get into it, or when my mom and I would go at it. I brought up something that Jamie said following our spat. She said, “fighting is normal. Every couple fights sometimes.” He said that she was right, but if that’s the case, then why does fighting with Jamie make me physically ill?

I try to avoid confrontations for the most part but I often wonder how healthy that is. Dr. Levinson asked me why I felt the need to defend myself and I couldn’t really give him a reason other than Jamie’s interpretation of the topic of our fight was vastly different from my perception of the same situation. I insulted her when I told her that she would make a poor journalist because she misrepresents the truth. She was very offended by that.

When we got to the party I asked my cousin if fighting leading up to the wedding was normal and he said that prior to his wedding in the summer, he and his wife fought constantly. Jamie and I aren’t really fighters. I watch her sister and brother-in-law put on the proverbial gloves and duke it out quite frequently, but I don’t want to be like them. They both have strong personalities which often clash. Jamie and I have a relatively peaceful existence, things are usually copacetic and I don’t want to make fighting the norm in our future household. It all depends, as my dad put it, on the type of family culture and dynamic we want to create for ourselves. My dad shared that he was usually the mediator or peacemaker in his childhood home. He was the middle child and his older sister, and my grandfather, who had a Napoleonic complex, would battle every day. My dad hated seeing them fight but disagreements, as he put it, are normal within families.

My mom and I had our fair share of confrontations during my high school years and I think it’s safe to say that I can’t avoid conflict at all costs with Jamie, even if the fights are pointless and trivial. I don’t want to be a punching bag like my maternal grandfather, but I don’t want to be a dictator like my father’s father; I guess I have to find a comfortable place somewhere in between.

Confidence Rising…

{ October 20, 2009 @ 7:57 pm } · { challenges in education, sources of inspiration }
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Many of my insecurities about my mental illness have manifest themselves in internal doubts. I have doubts about where I am currently, where I’m headed and how I will get there. For a long time I didn’t think I would ever settle down and get married. I always ran into trouble in relationships when I would have to disclose my psychotic past. But I found Jamie and she was emotionally intelligent and understanding beyond words.

I then doubted whether I could handle the rigors of Graduate School, but I am almost finished with my second Masters Degree, and it seems this degree will end up assisting me in my life’s work. With each doubt came a confrontation with the given obstacle and then a diligent work ethic and tunnel-visioned focus on overcoming the challenge, and for the most part, I’ve been successful.

I’m set to complete my student teaching in a North Suburban middle school, in fact, it is the same middle school I attended as a kid. My cousin is currently on staff at the school and he helped set up my student teaching this spring. It is a great school in an awesome district with great resources and conscientious students and parents. I couldn’t ask for a better teaching environment.

I found out last year that there would be an English teaching position opening in the fall of 2010 when I will be looking for a job. For a long time I focused on other schools, thinking that I wouldn’t be equipped to teach in such an exceptional school. I don’t know why I still doubt myself with all of my past triumphs, but the seed was planted and the doubting began when I heard the news about the opening.

I made my list of schools I would apply to with this school as an afterthought, but then I went out for my cousin’s birthday. At the get-together at a northside pub, I met up with many of the young teachers on staff at the school. They told me that a student teacher just got canned for showing up to his classroom smelling of alcohol from the previous night’s festivities–talk about being in the wrong profession. They went on to say that I will do a fantastic job because I have the right attitude and demeanor. Their compliments got me excited and realizing for the first time that this teaching thing is for me. I love kids and have enjoyed working with them in a mentoring role since I was in high school and coached my first feeder basketball team.

For the first time, I started to believe in myself and gain the confidence I think I need as I face this new challenge. I will attack this hurdle like I have the others in my path in recent years, and I will give this my best shot–if it doesn’t work out, so be it, at least I can say that I gave it my all!

The Perfect Morning

{ October 17, 2009 @ 6:45 pm } · { Uncategorized }
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This morning was Saturday morning, and it was perfect as far as mornings go. It didn’t involve french toast and eggs in bed nor did it involve passionate love-making before the sun came up, but it did involve a memorable trip to the jewelers with my bride to be.

I rolled out of bed at about 10, Jamie was already up doing pilates. I fixed myself some tea, got dressed and headed to the living room where Jamie was completing her morning workout. “So what’s going on today?” I asked, knowing that USC was playing Notre Dame and hoping that I would be able to at least catch the second half.

“We are going to look at wedding bands, remember?” How could I have forgotten when I made the arrangements for the meeting myself. We hopped in the car and drove to Jeweler’s Row on Wabash. After some bickering in the car because I was apparently driving like a maniac, (I hate city drivers on Saturday mornings), we found a parking spot and walked to the building. I used this guy for Jamie’s engagement ring and he is very good. Also, Jamie went to college with his daughter which might help us with a friend-of-the-family discount later on.

First, it was my turn to look at bands. I told the wife of the jeweler, and mother of Jamie’s friend, what I was looking for and she brought out over a hundred possibilities. After some time, I narrowed the decision down to a select few. Jamie was giddy with excitement. Girls love shopping for jewelery. I decided on a nice, classic silver band and it was Jamie’s turn to peruse the stock. She eventually chose a pave eternity band. When she made her decision, I waited, because that was the time when she usually brought up like five other possibilities. As the jeweler said, men and women are opposites when it comes to shopping, and he couldn’t be more right about that. But she had her mind made up, and she was pleased with her decision.

We left the store holding hands and she said, happily, “I’m happy with what I picked out, and I like yours… Do you?” I knew we couldn’t leave the store without her approval of my ring. It’s like trying to get out of the apartment wearing a shirt she doesn’t approve of, it just does not happen.

“I’m happy with what I chose, and I like yours aswell.” Then she gave me her wide, warm, contented smile that lights up the room. We took the next step. We talked about the other things we have to get done before the wedding in December and it seems that everything is falling into place. We went for a nice lunch at Flattop Grill where we gazed at each other from across the table, making the other person crack up as we ate. She was being her usual silly self, seat-dancing to Huey Lewis and the News as it played over the speakers. I was in a light-hearted mood as well, just thanking G-d for bringing the two of us together.

I remember the night we met. I was sitting next to her at a bar, already planning our future together. And today, almost two years later, I continue to fall even more deeply in love with her with each passing moment. It was the perfect morning because I was with the perfect woman–the game could definitely wait.

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