Friday, September 14, 2012


I am someone who often needs protection. It's true. Most of the time I need to be protected from myself. I tend to over react. J, stop looking so pleased by this admission. I do though. I am extreme. If one of the kids doesn't like my shirt, well, I might just throw it away. If J doesn't have a food-gasm from dinner, I'm never preparing that dish again. If a friend seems upset with me, golly-g, they must hate me, and I must be the world's worst person. I react in peaks and troughs. Never even keeled.

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Much like an umbrella at the beach; J is my protector. He is as even keeled as it gets. He is my center. He watches me live without abandon and pulls me close to him when the amplitude of my emotions goes awry. J protects me from myself and still loves me even though I once threw the phone out the front door and threatened to cut him if he touched my wine. I wonder if part of "the why" he loves me is because of my extra layer of passion. Maybe part of "the why" I love him is because he is the only person who has ever been content to stand still while I feverishly try to live life big. He waits there for me. I soar, and if I get close to crashing, he gently reminds me where my place is. He keeps me close when it's too dangerous for me to soar. J protects me from myself.