So Whats it's Going to Be, Me or the TV?

First of all, my apologies to Pat, who I know is cross with me for not posting since November. Sorry Paddy! That said: "Crept through the curtains, as quick as the cold wind Slowly exploring the room where you sleep The stare of your portrait, the passing of your scent Left me no choice but to stay..." These lyrics (from a song called Sweet Tangerine) came to me the way most things in my life do, randomly. So did Graham. Graham who tends to forget things like Valentine's Day and lives yet to meet my family (Two years in). Graham who gets drunk every couple of Sundays and spouts conspiracy theories (though, to be fair he does this sober as well). Graham who knows that I'm allergic to mornings but calls at 7am anyway (mainly on Sundays when he thinks I'm up that early for church. I'm not). Graham who, as I write this, is staring in yet another episode of his own personal version of This is Your Life (a favorite past time). As I listen to him run through his highlight reel; pointing out his random assortment of randomness (handmaid rugs, watches, leather chair he found on the street that may or may not turn out to be worth something) and take living vicariously through others (in this case his drinking buddies) I wonder (not for the first time) what exactly is happening here? I mean, in the interest of full disclosure, Graham wasn't the type of person I saw myself with long term: Family isn't exactly his thing whereas mine tends to consume me (for better or for worse). He takes himself far to seriously, something I pride myself on never doing, ever. He has the same relationship with political correctness that I do with rap music (apparently it's extremely important to a lot of people but, by and large, I have no use for it myself). Also, he doesn't necessarily want children and I'm not sure I've completely closed that door. (Though we're about a year out from it making absolutely no sense). And yet...the majority of the stuff in his apartment may or may not be mine (read: my stuff is everywhere). His contact picture on my phone is of him carrying my pink and purple Disney Princess travel bag over his shoulder (while walking through Bed-Stuy in Brooklyn). He only has the ID channel because of me Seriously?? What garbage was he watching before I got here?). You know that hashing #alonetogether that was supposed to make us feel all warm and fuzzy (but really just underscored how completely ridiculous this nightmare was)? That's the perfect description of our relationship. There's a comfortable distance, which I'm fully aware is an odd endorsement for a relationship. But that distance is countered by amenities; I show up in Ariel's pink dinner dress, he doesn't comment. He suggests Jesus might have been an alien, I entertain this. We watch Deadly Recall together, the most ridiculous true crime show ever invented, over the phone. Speaking of TV, don't talk to Graham during the blacklist. NO ONE talks to Graham during the Blacklist. I made that mistake once, teasingly asked "So what's it going to be, me or the TV?" I'm still waiting for an answer. Then again, his devotion to the Blacklist gives me time to improve my score on Diner Dash. Like I said, it's the little things...