Being Together

What is it, this being together? For an angst ridden yet cheerful fairy like my good self it is a pertinent question. Right now my man is smoking a cigarette. Our TV service is paused awaiting his return – so he can finish making my dinner, to be fair – and I am stretched out on my sofa, laptop on top of lap, drafting this post.


We have spent most of the day, he and I, in separate rooms because we’re both doing job applications. There are worse reasons to be in separate rooms of course... me and Fella recently were in Separate Rooms over his totally unreasonable bed hogging about which I am entirely blameless of course ;-)

Togetherness has of course has a more long-term connotation; as you have read this blog for a while gentle reader, you will know togetherness is the very bedrock of my sexuality. Either fleeting or, more recently, permanent. But... yes, as always that angsty but... how forever is forever?

At some point, diet and exercise notwithstanding, time will slip out of my tired hands e’re everlong I hold onto Fella’s... and as my damned soul slips off to Hell (for 97 reasons of which being gay is not even in the top 10 – in your face Pope) it will slip off alone. Fella will not be with me in that tunnel of light.

So what then? Better to be alone and await the endless sponge baths from that hot male nurse? Better to live life with your love, I think. Not quite for the moment. We are on the path of marriage and all that entails (I may even be sensible and make a will, take out life-insurance oh yes!).

But then there’s being together. I mean, what’s it about? It’s difficult to maintain the right balance of together and apart; not suffocating each other with demands for attention, and not being so distant that we have completely separate lives. One of the nice things about living together is that we aren’t confined to a timetable – we can be together or apart when we like. For the rest of our lives I think there’s still a lot of learning to do, about what being together and the right balance of intimacy and independence really are. We could be looking at 60 years, with or without the sponge baths.

Perhaps being together is developing those rituals and shared routines that mark out two lives increasingly lived as one; knowing the value of the moments we spend together so that working in separate rooms, me studying in the evenings or having to work late aren’t causing any grief. Either way I think we’re getting there. I can almost feel our relationship maturing and I’m learning to take the rough edge off all my worries. Whatever it means, I’m not sure I can define “being together” easily or exactly. But I look forward ot keeping on learning; and learning how best to keep him happy. After all, if together is on one side of the equation surely the other has to be happiness, no?