The Three-Week Accidental Holiday

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The Three-Week Accidental Holiday

Here’s a few things I learned when I accidentally spent three weeks at Bear‘s house:

He leaves dirty laundry everywhere. It doesn’t piss me off. It makes me laugh every time I pick it up. Every sock. Every pair of pants. Every t-shirt. I’m pretty sure that is the very definition of loving someone, of accepting someone, warts and all, their every little foible and quirk.


He’s horny. All. The. Time. I’m a horny little thing sometimes, and especially in the first flourishes of a new relationship, but he’s something else. The guy who couldn’t get it up now gets it up all the time, and after a while, all that sex starts to do something to you. To be frank … it ruins you. Sometimes my vagina and I just really need a break. He doesn’t understand this. He thinks I’ve “gone off him”.


I don’t hate that he smokes. I thought I would. Instead I love the way the cigarette smell lingers on his beard afterwards, and it hasn’t encouraged me to smoke again. When he gets up to send his kid to school in the morning, and then gets back into bed behind me, pulling me in close, that cigarette-scent bringing a smile to my face. It’s like a happy, familiar scent. But if anyone else smokes around me I can’t stand it. How odd?


Relationships don’t need to be dramatic, volatile, or stressful. We’ve had stressful situations already. Our anxiety has played up for both of us, his schizophrenia too, and his paranoia. There was a house move, another house move, a very skint month (for both of us), another very skint month (for both of us), erectile dysfunction, ex-boyfriend drama, teenager trouble (ish), landlord strife, you name it, we’ve probably already dealt with it in the short time we’ve been dating. I think it’s certainly enough to send one or both of us over the edge, but instead of going that way we’ve kept each other grounded. He’s calmed me down when I’ve been mega pissed off, and I’ve done the same right back to him. We are a great team.


He’s really very attentive. He asks if I’m okay All. The. Time. It’s actually a little annoying. Do I want tea? Coffee? Am I Hungry? Horny? Do I want a bath? Shower? Do I need to go for a walk? Should he put the TV on? Do I want to watch a movie?

It was cute at first because I thought he was making a super special effort as I was the ‘new girl’ in the house. But that was last time – when I spent five days at his. And then the time after – ten days at his. This time around he was exactly the same, and it’s showing no signs of slowing or dwindling. Ladies … I think I’ve got myself a good’un! Dum, dum, dummmmm.


He doesn’t measure out the coffee or the sugar in a cup. He doesn’t even use a cup. He drinks coffee out of a glass beer tankard, and he just sprinkles coffee and sugar in, straight from the jar / packet. He doesn’t measure mine either. I don’t have the heart to tell him that he’ll probably get a coffee maker for his next birthday. Not for his benefit – for mine. I really don’t like his coffee, but I find myself asking for it every now and again. I never finish it because it’s disgusting. He now thinks I can’t ever finish a cup of coffee. Tough times. This frustrates more than I can express. I’m a writer. I bleed coffee. I need good coffee. Coffee how I like it.


I have the power to calm him down. I thought I had that power before, but now I’ve seen it in action. Just a simple touch is enough to stop his raging mood, and just a nod, the raise of an eyebrow, or a tiny, barely-there smile is enough to bring him around. I need to respect that power – the power to calm his schizophrenic mind. I need to treasure it in my hands like the beautiful little gift it is.


We fit together. When he stands behind me, his belly fits into the curvature of my back. When he climbs back into bed behind me, spooning me and hugging me tight, we slot together perfectly. When he hugs me, he’s just the right height and width to make me feel tiny, protected, and completely safe. When we fuck, everything just drops into place. Every part of our lives have come together, almost like a zip being pulled closed, and nothing has stopped us or gotten in the way of that steady flow. With every relationship step we take, another notch of that zipper comes together. We just … fit.


He can be really lazy. I can be super lazy too, but he has a tendency to say he’ll do things and then not actually do them. It’s starting to annoy me a little.

“Babe, did you draw that graphic I asked you too? No? Okay, can you do it now? Yep, half an hour is fine, thank you!”

…. An hour later.

“Have you done it yet? No? Are you going to do it … ?”

Do or do not do, don’t say you’re gonna do it and then don’t.


I want to help him. He’s in a really crappy situation, financially. I’m no serious-saver or anything like that, but I’m not doing so bad most of the time, and I really want to help him. I want to have his back. I want to make sure that no one is ever going to hurt him, or his son, like they’ve been hurt before. I want to be the girl who restores his faith in love, in relationships, in women, and I want to be that girl for his son too. His son’s mother has been far from a role model. Scumbag is probably an understatement. I know he’s *meant* to make me believe that, but trust me when I tell you she is a serious scumbag.

But I want to help them both. I want to wrap them both up in a blanket of my love and make sure neither of them are ever disappointed again. I want to be part of that dysfunctional little family, and I want to kiss everything better again. I want to love them so much they’ll never remember any of that bad stuff again.


He’s super impatient. While he’s waiting for his son to get in from school, he’ll literally pace the living room, up and down. I’m surprised there isn’t a visible set of footprints in the carpet because it’s regular as clockwork. From about half three until four in the afternoon, he’ll be there, peeking out the window and pacing up and down.

If he’s waiting for a client, he’ll pace. If they’re late, he’ll pace and start muttering under his breath. If I’m running late and he’s getting pissed off (although pretending not to), he’ll sit on the couch and still somehow pace with his feet, constantly moving, tapping, waiting …

It drives me nuts. It’s funny, but it really does drive me nuts. I’ve never met anyone like it. For someone who’s always late himself, and is also quite unreliable, he hates exactly those people. He’s going to be in for one hell of a ride with me, Little Miss Always-Late.


I’m more patient than I thought I was. I’m more adaptable than I thought I was too. And when you meet someone you’re meant to be with, you know. Instantly, you just know. He’s like the best friend I’ve always wanted. The Bestie I WANT to fuck. I want to tell him everything, and I do. He basically knows about the blog. Not what the name of the blog is, or how to find it, but he knows what I write. I’ve shown him a few pieces in a word document format, and he’s always praised my work after he’s read it. He’s excited about it. He doesn’t probe to know more. He doesn’t interfere. He asks occasional questions but for the most part he just lets me talk about it when I want to.

More than that, he’s getting involved without actually getting involved. I give him a few ideas, he gets scribbling, and before long he’s created a masterpiece picture that I can use for my blog. Plus … all that artistic talent … all my blank skin … A tattooist on tap? Mmmhmmm, I’ll have all of that, thanks!


I have fallen for him, hook, line and sinker. And yes, I’m worried that I’m not not noticing the red flags because I’m sure there have probably been many. But haven’t you noticed the lack of me ranting on about all the bad stuff? Well, it’s because the bad stuff just isn’t that damn important to me. His paranoia pisses me off sometimes, but it’s really not that bad. And his jealousy gets on my nerves occasionally, especially with his constant need to piss up my leg (metaphorically), but I can handle it. It’s really not that bad. I’m going to be honest, I thought dealing with schizophrenia was going to be a lot more hassle than it’s actually been. I cannot believe I’ve just said that.

But I really have fallen for him. And his son too. I keep waiting for all this bad shit to happen and it’s not happening. The Brown Eyes thing was a problem, of course, but it was only a problem for a brief spell of time, each time. A little blip, if you like?


And that’s that. I’m kinda hoping he doesn’t turn into a dick now, if I’m being honest. I don’t know if I’d cope with that well. I’ve done exactly the thing I said I wouldn’t do again, and I’ve fallen head over heels in love overnight.

Please let’s not fuck this up. 

The Three-Week Accidental Holiday



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