I would like to believe i am pragmatic. Indeed, practicability in the most mundane transactions is my forte. So when i go out to buy the groceries i carry change with me, to facilitate a smooth exchange. I keep my things carefully, each important object allocated its specific space. Even if, i sometimes think despairingly, were i to contract alzheimer's i'd still, through long force of association, locate each object exactly where it is. Protracted habit is hard to lose hold of and my unassailable practicality, as i mention it, in its manifestations even in the quotidian, will be, useful in the future.
Thus does the everyday world, with its routines and customs, croon the soothing rhythm of efficacy but when he calls or sends a letter my sense of balance vanishes. I'm thrown into disarray, my routine askew. A confusion assails me ,ineradicable and i often find myself, with great trepidation ,possessed of a primeval anarchic power to destroy these structures i adhere to so assiduously and forcefully.
The self control putting a euro in a drawer or a sock in the cupboard, with its anodyne alleviation, deserts me. I rush around, scrambling, indefatigable, adjusting my life to correspond to his. My meticulousness is counterpointed by his chaos and unregulated habits. I earnestly wish him to stack the dinner plate just so, put the napkin in just that right place and he inveterately doesn't. On the contrary my obsessionality confronts me with the specter of its unreasonableness and redoubles my guilt.
He pokes gentle but excoriating fun at my clean routines. He says he feels enlivened with the chaotic reconstitution of my fragile perfection. He times his visits, it seems to me, when i'm at my most perspicacious. He unravels me ,disperses me, attenuates the constituents of my being so that the chimera of unalterability that precariously buoys me dissolves and recedes.
Yet his visits are indispensable. I can't think of my life without these frenetic interludes. Uniformity is frightening and lonely. And it's not like i have OCD or something. The pragmatism i alluded to is my chief virtue. But virtue has a comical side to it. Sometimes it seems that when he is not there i am neurotic and when he is there i become neurotic.