commit

I’ve never been to keen on committing.  I’m very non-committal about everything, from girl’s night out to dates, to vacation to shoes.  I don’t know if I’m saving myself for a pair of shoes that are better, a Saturday night that will be more fun or what not, I just feel more comfortable leaving things hanging, if you will. 

I get comfort from my lack of commitment.  Knowing I owe nothing to nobody makes me feels secure.  I don’t even like to sign leases because a year seems so long.  My gym membership is month-to-moth ‘cause I never know when I’ll just decide never to return.  I’m not a part of any clubs because can’t say for sure I’ll show up.  I don’t go to the doctor because if I don’t forget my appointment, I’ll just end up cancelling it.  Hell, I even lack commitment to myself.  I can’t commit to losing this excess 30 pounds, I can’t even commit to a hairstyle.  But non-commitment means that if I fail, fail to show up for an appointment, lady’s night, cutting my hair, losing weight, then I’m really not hurting anyone. 

I was primping for work this morning, horsing around with the pup, when I started thinking about how I’m going to have him for at least (if all goes well) 10 years.  By that time, I’ll be gearing up for turning 35, the same age my best friend John turned on SuperBowl Sunday.  That just seems so far away, that’s over half of how long I expect to live.  So many things could come up in 10 years time.  I could lose a leg, my life, my sanity.  I could win the lotto, become a hippy or a bleeding heart and join the PeaceCorp or *gasp* a Conservative Republican.  I could give birth, be a mother, get cancer.  But no matter what happens, I’m responsible to that dog.  And the decision to get this dog was a decision to co-raise it, so it was like a commitment to the Man for the life of the dog.  It’s was like a double extended commitment in the form of a teeny, barking poop machine that attacks my sneakers.

My commitment to my dog has given me a different sense of security.  I like knowing that he’ll be here for the next decade and tonight when I go home.  This helps me understand the allure of marriage.  It’s not just companionship, it’s a little bit of security.  Of comfort.  It’s a singular unchanging item in your life indefinitely.  You sign your names on the dotted lines, eat some cake and throw a bouquet and then look forward to each other’s abidingness.  Of course, your dog will always love you, where as your spouse could decide you’re fat and have chronic halitosis then decide to become a transgender drag queen.  I get the marriage thing now.  I still don't understand the wedding chaos.