Out on the road, there are many girls. A lot of them would be willing to be intimate with my boyfriend. Some of them will make that known to him. A couple will be aggressive about it.
I think the thing that bothers me most is how easy it would be to get away with it. How would I ever know? It's impossible. At least with some local affair, he'd get caught at some point. He's a terrible secret-keeper.
This jealousy does me no credit. I am only slightly comforted by the fact that pretty much anyone in my situation would probably feel the same way. It only bothers me when I think about it, but I had to think about it to write that, so I'm bothered now. The cure is a phone call. When I hear him, I know that the voice belongs to a man who is faithful to me.
I never aspired to be a rock star. People ask if I go on tour with the band, and I say "No, I have a job." Which is mean and probably not the kind of thing that a supportive girlfriend would say, because this is a job of sorts. It's not one that pays very well, but the level of dedication is the same.
Every day after I get finished with that job that I have, I call him, and I am so excited to just be speaking to him. But then I have nothing to say, because I went to work, and then I came home. Someone at my office said something that was funny at the time. I had leftover falafel for lunch again.
How come rock stars get to have all the fun? Why not computer programmers?
He doesn't offer a whole lot of detail on his own; he's just not talkative like that. But I know he is out there doing crazy interesting things and meeting crazy interesting people. Months later, I will hear him tell a story from his travels to someone else, and I will feel hurt that I have not heard the story before. I am jealous that I am not out there living the stories, and I am jealous that he did not tell them to me at the time.
I am your girlfriend. You have to tell me everything immediately as it happens.
This jealousy is selective. It only thinks about the amazing parts, not the hours of driving in a smelly van, the days of greasy food, the sleeping on hard floors. It also does not bother pointing out that I could not handle the instability and uncertainty involved in living on the road.
It's not just that I'm missing out on all the experiences, it's that he is having them without me. Crucial and formative things are happening to him at this very moment. What things? I don't know - THINGS.
There is this whole aspect of his life that I can never be a part of. Even if he told me all the stories right away, I wasn't there. I suppose it works the other way around, too, but it doesn't seem like he's missing out on much.
This jealousy needs to work on its boundaries.
I'm not usually so unreasonable.