Adventures of a Closet Romantic; in which I'm a good girlfriend.
She was having a weekend of November blues, so much so that today she skipped classes, and I decided that it was time I took matters into my own hands. So we went on a picnic. I lacked a basket, so I packed my backpack with my Nick&Nora blanket, my book of lesbian love poems, and the head octopus she so enjoys. Blanchard supplied mulled cider and cookies, and we settled on a little patch of lawn off the garden path for our secluded nook. As it turned out... more path than seclusion, but that was all right. We drank our cider, ate our cookies, I showed her some of my favorite poems.
I finally realized that the reason I can't write about her, or can't write anything about her that I consider any good, is that my writing is either dry-wit observations about the things I see and do, or philosophical ramblings about my development as a human being. In my writing, as in all else, I'm well-equipped to deal with trouble and at a loss when it comes to things going smoothly. Things with her are better than smooth, but I don't write about it because there's really not that much to say - it would just be weeks of snuggling, cuteness and sex. I told her this and we snuggled, were cute, then went back to her room and had sex. Not something I'd usually share with the entire world, but according to hallmate Kayla, we did enough sharing that it hardly matters. Turns out the doors in Wilder don't do a whole lot as far as soundproofing is concerned.
So... All in all, a good afternoon, spent being a good girlfriend. This whole relationship thing isn't nearly as hard as I feared it would be.
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