Mediocrity Killed the Cat.

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Mediocrity Killed the Cat.

As many of you know, and by many of you I mean the proud few that indulge in my occasional cyber rants; I’m “involved” in an ambiguous relationship with a man by the name of NsSA, Not-so-Starving-Artist. I’ve chronicled our dealings since our initial meeting last November during a SEC mash-up at his flat. From that initial meeting of the minds to an impromptu proposal of faux life partnership with a ghetto gold band we are a couple of humans – proudly. He said yes! While my feelings and thoughts of him have remained consistent, I fear we’re turning yet another corner.

Upon the urging of a close friend, I read an article earlier today entitled “Why Married Women Cheat,” the basis of it specifically outlining the reasons women stray. Within minutes of reading the first paragraph, I found myself nodding in agreement with the reasoning behind this age-old phenomena. Essentially, the same energy it takes to win the object of your affection, is the energy it takes to keep them. Sounds simple enough … So why is it, that over 8.9 million people stray from their mate in search of greener pastures annually? “The situation starts to reek of complacency and satisfaction in mediocrity” the article advised. ”Marriage doesn’t take “work” per se, but it does require concerted effort and investment in each other, and in you.”

 

As I read this, swear to Prada, a little bit of pee came out. Seriously. For the last few weeks, I’ve found myself discussing this with NsSA on more than one occasion. “I need you to make the effort … I don’t feel like you’re making the effort.” As we’re long distance presently, communication is paramount for us. He preferring to text and I, to talk. And I will say, we do make the effort, to adjust. I hate texting, but sometimes it makes sense for us due to our hectic schedules. In real life NsSA, is on the fast track to becoming kind of a big deal and that means less Pretty One, more billable hours. I get it.

I also get, that he’s not the President of a small country. I once dated a man who managed other peoples money for a living. And by other peoples money, I mean people that had “F*ck you money” — not, “That’s My Seat Money.” This man was possibly the best.boyfriend.ever. He’s about 15 years my senior, but he got it — and he went out of his way to let me know that he was available to me and for me. And I loved it and it made me want to give that energy in return to him.

I’ve never fancied myself as “That Girl.” You know … level 3 clinger, where-you-been-and-what-you-been-doing girl? I’m not built like that. However, it sucks to feel like in a world of 99 problems, that you’re 115 on the list of a person’s to do’s. I feel like I’m 189 on NsSA’s list of priorities more often than not lately. And he’s not terribly forthcoming about his work life and so I’m left to my own devices. The flip side of this being coming to grips with the fact that his good, may not be good enough for me. And it isn’t. And I hate that, because I realllly care about this person. I care about him with four – l’s. That means – I like him, I like him - a lot.