Monday, November 19, 2007

Growing pains

I was catching up on some blog reading, because I've been woefully negligent. Sassypants moved in with her fella. I knew it was going to happen, but I didn't know that it had.

Man, do I know all about the pains of moving in with another person. Good god, do I ever.

With Scott and me, Scott hardly left my apartment for about a year before he moved in, so I thought it wasn't going to be all that different when he moved in. It turns out it was, and it was all subtle, I-can't-quite-put-my-finger-on-it different.

One thing is he came with a lot of stuff, which he put anywhere he wanted. I had lived alone in the apartment and had already determined where everything belonged. I would find things in the exactly wrong place and just want to shoot him. He couldn't seem to understand that I had a system and why I was so annoyed when I found something in the wrong place.

"You haven't gone home in a year!" I would bellow. "How do you not know where pots and pans go!"

If we were independently wealthy or something, it would have made good sense for each of us to give up our apartment and to get one new apartment together for us both to move our stuff into. But I had (and we still have) such a sweet deal on this place, I didn't want to find another place that I know would have been inferior and more money. Also, I made this vow that the next time I moved, I would be moving into my permanent home. I've been working on the Jennifer Myszkowski Permanent Home Fund for a while now and is finally starting to come along, you know, and I didn't want to blow money on first and last.

Anyway, if Sassy and her fella were Scott and me, I'd be playing the role of her fella and Scott would be Sassy. I'd be all, "You figure out which cabinet canned tomatoes go in, motherfucker!" (except I would not actually say that; I'm not that bad of a person) and Scott would be all cool as a cucumber. "You're pretty angry about the cabinets," he would say. "Do you have low blood sugar?"

And of course his identification of my irrational rage would only serve to enrage me further, but I'd have to be smooth about it so as not to appear to be an asshole. And as I acted cool about it, what I'd really be doing is quietly hatching a plan to put signs on all the cupboards until he knew where to put things. Lesson one: if you open a cabinet and there are pots and pans in there, it's a good chance that that's where the pot in your hand belongs! But I never actually label anything. And then it blows over. And then we are friends again and crazy about each other.

Sometimes, during my darker moments, I think to myself, What the hell am I doing with this guy? And then I think, What the hell is he doing with me?

Gosh, are we ever a pair...of lovebirds!

Seriously though, it is just so hard, the working out of the kinks. I don't think I was prepared for how hard it is. And it's lucky we're so crazy about each other, because I can see how other people would just crumble under the pressure.

I sure am lucky.



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