Do you have a deal-breaker list?
After writing down the many attributes I sought in a partner, I finally got around to jotting down my anti-wish list: traits I’d prefer not to experience again in a relationship. Funny thing, I didn’t realize some of a partner's no-no’s until after they occurred.
Take, for example, snoring. Not the occasional, positional kind that comes and goes and can be stopped with a loving tap on one’s shoulder. I mean the falls-asleep-before-you-and-doesn’t-stop-until-dawn-and-you-can’t-remember-getting-any-shut-eye kind of snoring. Precisely the sort that eventually dooms a couple to separate bedrooms, though not before one (me) becomes a Zombie.
Hell, Michigan My last words to you were three. Not the ones you wanted to hear,
nor what your mother would have ever expected,
unlike a Hollywood-esque 143 ending. No. Please don't go.
Three requests: one inevitable (go), two completely out of your control (please, don’t).
Like a series of events following a poor chess move,
inevitable won, and off you went.
Three unrehearsed, unnecessary words were the ones I uttered nevertheless
when you had other plans—you and the life you lived on your own,
all by yourself.
Now I cautiously examine the stories behind each smile
as I see you in everyone, with their questionable narratives and unconvincing grins.
I call this ‘the in-between', and it’s a scary place, so I’m glad you’re not here.
I sold your trumpet here. And those rare coins that convinced you of their value.
Pawned our rings.
I hope a happy couple got a good deal, better than us.
Had the buyers known the story behind those circlets, worse to me than blood diamonds,
perhaps they would have settled for Moissanite; but, meteors–they are also
interesting storytellers. Someone or something suffered for them, too.
Adding to my deal-breaker list is a cathartic act. Ironically, populating its items feels as gratifying as crossing ones off a goal sheet. In one, I jot down my no-longer-wants in a blank space above a perfect line; in the other, I add an imperfect line over a series of characters. Both lines denote an accomplishment. Both lines get me one step closer to where I want to go.
---
“It's a fine line." —They say. "Be careful not to be too picky and prevent an ever-after."
Me? I’ll happily sleep on it.
Lee Hadwin is a world-renowned, Welsh-Australian sleepwalking artist who draws and paints in his sleep. Since the age of four, he has produced portraits, landscapes, and abstract drawings in his sleep, only to find that when he awakes, he returns back to his normal, non-artistic self. This "uniqueness" has made his works highly sought-after, capturing interest from celebrities, world leaders, art dealers and collectors.
You, too, can join them by checking out his BBC reel feature: "The man who makes art in his sleep." Additionally, type "sleep artist" into any search engine to find various fascinating articles and stories written about Lee. Or, visit his website.