Love in Theory and Practice: Chapters 1-13

The last week or so since I’ve been at the University have been pretty hectic. I’ve been working on assignments, research, grading, reading, etc. for hours everyday, long into the night.

I can tell that Ville is sometimes frustrated with this new way of living but he hasn’t complained. He’s only been sweet which makes me feel guilty.

He’ll cook for me or make me coffee. He’ll rub my shoulders or sing me to sleep. When I try to apologize he just tells me that he understands.

I’m running on maybe 4 or 3 hours of sleep a night. So I’m a bit cranky. But still he takes care of me. We haven’t had sex in a few days now and I spend most of my time glued to either my laptop, my books, or my research notes.

One of these days it’s going to come to an argument but I know it’s only fair to let him fight it out with me.

Right now I’ve just finished grading and editing preliminary drafts of the first paper due for theory/ writing class. It’s a required class for all students planning on graduating with an art history degree. It’s meant to teach the fundamentals of the writing, researching, and analyzing process.

The students are required to write three papers this term. The first is a formal analysis paper on a work chosen by the student from a list created by the teacher. It’s been really interesting to read the work. The second paper that will be due just after reading week is an iconographic analysis of the same work.

And finally at the end of the semester, the final research paper is due. It’s meant to be something related to the piece they’ve worked on all term but it does not necessarily have to be directly about that piece.

The study group and weekly meetings with my smaller group of students has been incredibly rewarding. At first I was nervous about my abilities as a potential teacher but it seems that I’m pretty decent at it.

When I introduced myself on the first day, I hear a few mumbles at the mention of my last name but it died out almost immediately.

I set aside the edited drafts and move on to my own research notes for my seminar class. Researching is always something I enjoy but deciding on a topic is always difficult.

After one of the first days of class, I’d been so overwhelmed that I’d just gone and sat in the empty room on the second floor. I’d sat with my eyes closed for a while and just allowed my mind to rest. This is a new ability that I’ve developed since being with Ville.

Before I would have just popped a Xanax and continued on with my day. But my doctor said that if I want to have a hope for a healthy pregnancy, I’d have to give up Xanax and Valium. I was pretty grumpy my first week without Xanax but Ville held on and didn’t take my snide remarks to heart.

When I’d opened my eyes, my gaze had fallen directly on the print I’d purchase from Ikea for the room. It’s a Klimt print of a mother holding her child. It is a detail from The Three Ages of Woman from 1905.

My research now, is on the depiction of the mother and child in art since 1850. It’s rather broad still but it will narrow down as I continue to work.

I flag a few pages in my photocopied notes and make some quick notations in the margins. There are so many possibilities with this topic and I can already see that I’m going to have a rough time deciding.

I hear Ville come in. He’d been out at Mige’s; they’ve just been jamming together and hanging out. I hear him sigh when he sees me at my desk. He moves up the stairs rather than come into the living room.

He has stopped trying to get my attention when I’m working. I miss his little interruptions but I understand how frustrating it must be to try to get someone’s attention while they’ve got their nose stuck in a 1,000-page book.

But he used to plant little kisses in my hair or on my shoulders. Or he’d write me little notes and put them right in front of my face on the page I’m reading. But lately he’s stopped.

I lay my hands down on the desk and debate whether or not to go after him.

I push back from the desk and make my way up the stairs. I hear him turn on the shower.

I slip into the bathroom and strip down.

“Can I join you?” I ask. He smiles happily and nods. He likes to shower together but I’m not a huge fan so he knows that I’m stepping out of my comfort zone right now.

“You’ve been working so hard.” He says quietly and wraps me in a wet hug.

“I have to get things done or I’ll be working while we’re away.” I say.

“I know.” He says. “I just now know how other people feel when I disappear to work for weeks a time. It’s not very much fun.”

“I’m sorry Ville.” The water is dripping off the ends of his hair and hitting my cheeks.

“Don’t be sorry.” He cups my face in his hands and kisses me a few times. “We have to do what we love to do. But how’s the paper coming?”

“It’s good. I’m beginning to get a few leads on some narrower topics.” Our shower is large enough that there’s a small bench. I sit down and pull my knees up under my chin.

“Anything exciting?” he asks while he shampoos his hair.

“Well it depends on the road I’d like to take. I can go into psychoanalysis but I’m thinking that could be too long if I include all the pieces I’d like to. I can look at it from a social historical view and describe how the depictions have changed in relation to accepted social norms. Or I can get into feminism but I really hate feminism. There are a few other possibilities too.” I say with a shrug.

“You hate feminism? Why didn’t I know that?” he asks with a low chuckle.

“Because I don’t talk about it, because I hate feminism.” I say with a laugh.

“Funny that a woman with almost an entire realm of the business world at her feet wouldn’t be a feminist.” He jokes. I just shrug. “I hate feminism too.” He says and throws some soap bubbles at me.

After the shower, Ville wraps a towel around his waist and sits beside me on the bed.

“Let me help,” he says gently and takes the hair towel out of my hands. But instead of being helpful, he rubs it roughly and playfully, created a tangled mess out of my wet hair.

“Oh, you are so not helpful.” I say and playfully hit him in the arm.

“Your hair is getting long.” He says thoughtfully, handing the towel back.

“So is yours.” I reply and run my hand through his hair. He pulls me into lap and lies back onto the bed. He nuzzles his face into my neck.

Later on, I change into my pajamas and climb into bed beside him. His cheeks are still pink and his lips are still swollen.

“Think you can forgive me for being so busy?” I say and twirl some of his hair around my finger.

“Oh, there’s nothing to forgive.” He says quietly. “I know that you need to get things done. Besides, if I’d been able to take you on a honeymoon right after the wedding, you wouldn’t have had this work to do.”

“No, we just had other things to get done. Are we going to be those people who are always busy?” I ask.

“Do you like to be lazy and lie around doing nothing?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

“No,” I answer honestly.

“Then we’re always going to be those people who are busy.”

We both sigh and lie back against the pillows.

“At least we’ll be busy together.” I breathe and he kisses my temple.