I’m at home right now. I’m at home surrounded by my own mess, desperately trying to pack and getting nowhere. My cat just keeps jumping in and out of the boxes and suitcases I’m trying to neatly arrange things in, and I just can’t seem to keep my mind on one thing and one thing alone for very long.
I don’t know where this wave of anxiety has come from. Before I put my key in my door, I had no reservations about moving in with Bear at all. Now I’m sat at my desk next to a pile of paperwork I have no idea what to do with, and I’m freaking out a little. I decided the only logical thing to do was blog. I don’t seem to do that enough these days.
When I’m at Bear’s house, it feels like I’m home. When I was there, I didn’t want to come here. I didn’t want to pack my things. I could live without all of them. Get someone else to dispose of it all for me. Just pretend I died. I can buy new things. But bring me my cat. Please.
I don’t mean it, of course, I just didn’t want to come back here. To the best friend I’m leaving behind, and the other housemates I can no longer stand. It’s time to grow up and I know that, but I’m freaking out. I don’t know why. Am I worried about moving in with Bear? No. Not at all. Well, I wasn’t until I came back here. But where’s this weird feeling coming from? Why, all of a sudden, am I not so sure of my decision? Not even that because I am sure … I don’t know what the feeling is?
Maybe it’s sadness? Sadness at the fact I’m leaving my single life behind – me and my cat against the world. I’m not sad to leave this house though. I can’t leave it behind quick enough. I hate it. I hate the house almost as much as I hate Housemate M. And let me tell you, Housemate M is a total cunt. He’ll deliberately spend three hours cooking in the kitchen when he knows I’m waiting to use the oven. If I so much as dare to put the kettle on, he enters the kitchen like a genie summoned from his lamp, creeping me out and generally being a fucking pain in the ass until I end up leaving and abandoning my hopes of tea. He’s just a cretin. That’s all he is, a 42 year old cretin. He needs to get a life. Or a girlfriend. Maybe both. Either way, I don’t like him. I won’t ever like him. I tried to like him and I don’t. He’s just an asshole who doesn’t know how to wash up properly and leaves everything he touches in the kitchen coated with a thick layer of grease. I can’t wait to get away with having to re-wash every dish in the house before I want to use it.
Housemate R isn’t so bad, but his girlfriend moved in which I’m pretty sure goes against all the rules of our tenancy agreement. Not that it matters because Bestie and I are breaking the rules with the cats we’ve adopted … But he doesn’t pay for his share of the Sky package that I seem to find myself single-handedly paying £150 a month for. Or the TV license. Or various other bills that I seem to find cutting into MY bank balance at the end of the month. I hardly think that’s fair.
I’m just too old to be living with other people. To be carrying other people. I want to get on with the next stage in my life, and I want the next stage of my life to be with Bear. For the record, nothing has happened. Nothing bad. We’ve been having so much sex, I don’t even have the time to write about it. But it’s not all about the sex. We got so stoned we could barely speak until the early hours of the morning. Like 5/6am. We’ve eaten entire packets of biscuits together, giggling and marathon binge-watching various shows on Netflix and Sky Box Sets. We’ve argued and made up. Play-fought and broke things. Battled ex-boyfriends. Bounced around ideas to help both my job stuff, and his. Overcame the boyfriend + blog barrier. He broke my Mac and it wasn’t even the end of the world. Not many men would have come out of that situation alive … In case you’re not aware, my Mac is my life. It goes everywhere with me. It sleeps on the side of my double bed that a boyfriend should. We’re inseparable. It’s the best and most fulfilling relationship I’d ever had, and I’d highly recommend it. (Just make sure you get insurance and / or keep it away from cups of lukewarm and sugary coffee!)
But I firmly believe there’s no situation I can’t make it through with that man by my side. I know we’re only six months in, but I’m head over heels in love with him. I find myself staring at his face, marvelling at his grey and silver beard, giggling when I see the slight curvature of his nose from years of not-so-play fighting. I love the bones of that man. I’ve been well and truly swept off my feet. I wish he had more confidence sometimes, but I think that’ll come with time and some TLC. And I have all the TLC in the world for him. I can’t keep my hands off him, whether it’s in or out of the bedroom. I want to be wrapped up in his arms for the rest of my life. Just his arms. I don’t think that’s too much to ask for.
See, that’s why I love my blog so much. Twenty minutes ago I was in major meltdown mode, wondering if I was making the right decision. Now I’m more convinced than ever. I don’t know how I ever thought I could give it up. I don’t want to give it up. Maybe I’m addicted to it? Is that even possible?
I do know that I’m miserable at home and happy at Bear’s house, so I’m following my happiness. And I know what you’re all thinking – 6 months isn’t enough time to get to know someone before you choose to move in with them – and I think you’re probably right. But before you laugh and say something along the lines of, “I’ll give it a year before they’ve broken up,” I’m going to leave you with this:
I knew Big Love for just a few weeks when I realised he was worth leaving my husband for. We dated for just six months before I made the decision to move to the other side of the world. I spent two glorious years over there that I look back over with tears of sheer delight and joy in my eyes. I wouldn’t change my two years with Big Love and the adventures we had for all the tea in China, despite our catastrophic breakup. Whether it goes tits up with Bear or not, I wouldn’t give my time with him up for anything in the world. I want to spend ALL of my time with that man. I WANT to live with that man, and I have the kind of job and lifestyle where I can just up-sticks and go wherever the romance takes me.
So damn it, that’s just what I’m going to do.