vinylgirl's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It will never be the same as living alone Oh how a year can change things. I remember standing at the arrivals gate checking, double checking the arrivals board. I think it is Santiago. Then he came through wearing a dirty tan and a tacky Peruvian cap. He was home. After six weeks of riots, earthquakes, food poisoning and the most steak and red wine dinners that could be consumed in a few days. He arrived with joy, hope and love. We were so optimistic about what 2008 would bring. Little did we know it would bring despair, fear, and fights - the first we've had. As we said 'I love you' for the first time, I promised myself to step back and hold my ground about moving in - my masters is enough of a distraction I said. Within the first week of September I was crashing three nights a week. Soon it became four. Little travel suitcase. Pre-packed make-up bag. GO trains to and fro. Post-Halloween we planned to move down the hall into a one-bedroom plus den and in together. We didn't talk about it. We just started packing. Talking makes it real and heavy. Heavier than a crate of records or an armful of plates. There was just something about 402. Bad memories crawled inside the walls. Nights he closed the bedroom door behind him. Nights I sat on the side of the tub and wiped my tears. He lost his job in 402 and the experience never faded. It crept like ants from the baseboards. The embarrassment. The shame. The fear that inspired midnight confessions of inadequacy. Those stark white walls were closing in on us. As we carried our couch and our desk and reassembled our bed down the hall, relief set in. It was a fresh start. Neutral ground. So here we are. Learning to live together. Learning what happens when the make-up and after shave are off - saved for special occasions. Beginning to know not just the trivia discovered from dating but the intimacy of fears and hopes and the ugliness of bad days. The thing about living together, that you must realize from the start, is it will never be the same as living alone. That is over. The word is compromise. Somewhere between lace, pink and frills and antlers, maps and hockey memorabilia we decide how to live together. So far so good. Toes crossed. Allison 5:41 p.m. - 12/28/2008 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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