three words

previously published by me elsewhere:

"Love is too weak a word for what I feel - I luuurve you, you know, I loave you, I luff you, two F's, yes I have to invent, of course I - I do, don't you think I do?" ("Annie Hall", Woody Allen & Marshall Brickman - screenwriters)

Our seventh anniversary just passed, and against the magazine rack judgment of how my brain should be programmed, I know the exact date of it every day of the year. I never comprehend the flakiness of people when it comes to these things, especially when they're the ones who got hitched in the first place.

Then again I am one of those frustrating people who keep up very well with such bits of info. Most people who know me realize if I forget something important like that I never knew it in the first place, or the inoperable tumor announcement is around the corner. Or maybe the Seven Year Itch will be rearing its ugly head any day now.

Of course I refer to the 1957 Billy Wilder film starring Marilyn Monroe, in one of her trademark roles. Truthfully something like that has less to do with the main character's period of marital dissatisfaction and is more or less unpreventable when Marilyn Monroe is your next door neighbor. I think a lot of modern couples have these types of unlikely special circumstances written into clauses in their private vows, but I think far fewer will share that information.

Long term relationships take a shit load out of you. You have to be invested in it one hundred percent of the time, and not lose sight of your commitment to it. Once you recognize that it's a condition and that you need to be constantly on guard for anything, you'll start to here the jingle-jangling of the ball and the chain, and you'll be well on your way through the twelve-step program. There's a long and involved de-tox process during which all memory prior to the relationship is erased, and on the other end you're very likely to no longer relate to single people.

They will all become a blur of creatively conceived dating shows starring people who aren't as humorous as those who write the running pop-up commentary or are merely spies traipsing through someone's dirty bedroom in the hopes to bond in some random way.

In this game there's a lot to be cynical about, and unfortunately I know far too many unhappily single people, ungratefully connected people, and lazily married people to not just assume I was one in whatever billion to be struck by lightning and lived to tell about it.