I have this oddness...I'm deathly scared of cheesy romantic cliche anything. I just steer clear of it altogether...a little too much. More like alot too much. Which results in in me failing at ever saying nice things about people because I'm far too afraid that it's going to sound lame and just cliche.
Which is why I haven't blogged about Cody. (See...I'm already weirding myself out.) But per request of a best friend who hasn't met him yet, it's about time.
The awkward thing right now is that he's sitting right across from me. We're in this coffee shop...the one I always blog at because it's got yellow walls...and I'm writing and reading, and he's drawing. He's pretty darn talented that way. Like...art and music mostly. He plays bass. It's kinda hot. And ukelele. Once he even learned a cheesy love song and sang it to me. It made me laugh and he was embarrassed but I liked it alot.
He does alot of things like that. Things that girls always kind of dream of their man doing for them but actually never expect to find a guy that will. He's written me poems. Sung songs for me. Taken my little sisters for ice cream. Sent me letters by post. Left coffee on my doorstep in the morning. And I have always had at least one vase of flowers in my room. It's a rule for me to tell him before they die so he can buy me more before I toss um.
I can't ever keep a secret from him. Not cuz I'm a good enough person not to try, but because he knows something's wrong without even looking at me.
He's probly...ya...even when I think about all the humble people I know...he's probly the most humble. I've seen it alot of times. And it really impresses me. Because I'm not.
He wants to go to seminary and do foreign missions and be a pastor and adopt kids. And he's gonna be really good at it. Like...really good. He's got strong convictions, but he's humble enough to listen to someone else's and change what he believes if he's wrong. And he loves people and always wishes he had more time to invest in everyone. And he is in love with Jesus and the gospel and always comes back to them in the end.Anyways...he's pretty much dumping amazingness all over the place...and I'm stinking lucky to be his girlfriend. And now you all know...which is good...cuz you should. But I'm embarrassing myself out and I think he wants to go now. Plus I'm hungry.
I adjusted the stool three times, and sat back down, determined to write. I didn't know what. Maybe something about the ratio of cars to bicycles rolling by the window. The quality of foam on my long gone chai. The color of the bright teal wall. The two old men playing backgammon on an iphone. The handlelessness of my cup. The difficulties in deciding which trash or recycle bin your cup goes into. Whether it will rain or not...
I still don't know what to write about. I notice things, but don't ask questions. I take them how they are and don't ask why or how or want to change it. It makes me a boring writer. Or maybe...it's not what I write that's boring. I know better than to write boring things. Which turns me from a boring writer to an infrequent writer. Because my unboring thoughts are few and far between.