Life Won't Wait (a post full of digressions)

In my quest to have more music on iTunes than my husband does (since it is my computer and all), I have been ripping CDs this morning. Among them, Rancid's ...And Out Come The Wolves, which I purchased in 1996 or maybe even 95. I brought it with me when I went to college in 1997 (if you are weird and tracking my life, I deferred for two years before giving up and attending for considerably less than that). It was on the shelf over the built-in "desk" in my dorm room second trimester when I got a boyfriend. So was Bush's 16 Stone, which I carefully kept hidden until he married me. But nevermind that.

We'd been "seeing" each other (that is such a funny euphemism) for a few weeks, or maybe a whole month, when he looked through the CDs, selected Rancid, and said, "Can I borrow this?" I found the question startling. First of all, we never spent time in my room (freshman girls' dorm), always his (upperclass coed and further off-campus), so it just made sense to bring the good music. Second, what's mine is his. Why would he ask to borrow?

I don't think I was one of those girls, the ones who plan their wedding on the first date and become creepy and stalkery. I don't think I was. I'd never exhibited that sort of behavior before, to be certain; in fact, I'd been rather withdrawn from my prior boyfriend, Eric, who wanted to be much closer than I was comfortable with (I actually refused to have sex with him during the two months or so that we "dated" because he told me he loved me and I didn't love him*). It's just that I knew this was it. It never occurred to me to behave as though it were anything else.

And that is my whole story. Boring!

*When Eric said, "I love you," I replied, "I know." I don't know if I am really mean or what, but I still find it dreadfully amusing.