I am writing (a month later) from the place that J and I now live in
together. The quiet around here is not permanent, I promise. After
fighting many obstacles: fleas, eye infections (me), trips to the dump,
coordinating the borrowing of vehicles with moving pieces of
furniture... more FLEAS (which we are still fighting by the way)... and
telling my mom and almost 93 year old grandmother that I was moving in
with my boyfriend... we are just about all moved in. We survived it all.
And now that we are finally here, J and I still have a long way to go.
I
have never spent this much time with a boy. Ever. In the almost two
years we have spent together, we rarely go longer than 4 days without
seeing one another. That is a lot, especially for me. I think of myself
as an independent woman. I pride myself on being able to muscle open my
own jars, to sleep alone at night and to generally do things myself. I
value my alone time. I also value eating ice cream out of the carton
while watching deliciously awful rom-coms. You can't do that in the
presence of a man (without some form of ridicule). Trust me, I have
tried. And now I am here taking this giant leap of faith and
cohabitating with J. This is a place I have never been before... Never
thought I would be. Not only am I getting a deeper understanding of J, I
am also getting to know another side of myself as well.
I
am not always the best roommate. Ask anyone who has lived with me. I
get moody. And the depth at which I spiral into these moods is
claustrophobic and troubling to those around me. I am also difficult to
read. So this, combined with living with another moody person, with his
own hangups and his own pet peeves, has been an eye opening experience
and a challenge.
Which brings me to the heart of the
matter: the Compromise. That, which is inevitable to survive
cohabitation, is also necessary to the success of the relationship. Many
women I know have been taught that to do so would mean to lose. To lose
on feminism. To lose the ongoing tug-o-war between men and women. To
lose the ability to be strong and independent. But most importantly, I
was taught that compromise would ultimately lead to missing pieces of
oneself, that, come the break up, was often impossible to get back.
Well, here I am, a strong-willed, single woman in my early twenties, who
was used to doing what I wanted when I wanted, now living with my
boyfriend.
How do you find the balance between making yourself happy and making the one you love happy? Here goes nothin'!
J
hates cats. When I say hates cats, he HATES them. With a fiery, all
consuming hatred, does he detest their existence. I have two of them.
These two cats are not your calm, out of the way kitties. They are
demanding, loud and temperamental. They also like getting up on counters
and eating his plants. More specifically, his lucky bamboo that he got
right after moving here. When this happens, cue the ominous "dun, dun,
DUNNNNN" sound and watch J's beard burst into flames while his eyes
become laser beams of destruction. Sometimes he even chases after them
like Godzilla chasing after small/stealthy cars. The silence that
follows these episodes is oppressive and deafening. Some of you may ask,
"Didn't you talk about this before you moved in together?" And the
answer is yes, yes we did. But see, when you talk about something before
you actually do it, every conversation is simply speculation. Because
the truth is, we can never guarentee how we will think, feel or react
until we arrive in the moment. So... What does a gal like me do in this
predicament?
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Heart & Brain: "I Love You" Pancakes
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After many tears and discussions about
sanity, identity and love in all of its forms, I agreed to open myself
up to finding a new home for one of my cats. I have asked around on
Facebook and posted an ad on Craigslist. So far, no takers. In the mean
time, J and I are taking it one day at a time. Till then, there are
always "I Love You" pancakes and breakfasts in bed.
