We’ve spent the last week and some change boxing up our lives and moving into a new (and much larger) place. It’s all so exciting, but Lord, am I ready to claw out my eyeballs. We’ve had to switch every utilities company we had, even though our new home is not only in the same city as the old place, but within three miles of it. Different electricity company. U-Verse didn’t run a line on our street. Having a gas line where we didn’t before. Having to set up water and trash for the first time (the old apartment put that in our rent).
You know what that means?
1) Lots of phone calls
2) Lots of installations
3) Lots of monies
We’ve got it all handled now, thought, and that’s such a relief. We turned into uppity cable folk in the interim, and we sit and watch it in awe. Up until now, we’ve gotten by with a Roku and a Sling subscription, but this whole cable thing is bananas. We have a DVR. What.
We’re also broke now. We decided that we needed new rugs and lamps and all sorts of things. House looks amazing. Wallet looks sad.
We have some furniture that I refuse to move inside until I’ve refinished/reupholstered it, which means that it will probably stay in the garage until Christmas (and that’s being generous). It’s hard to find time to be crafty when the world of Medicaid beckons all the damn time. I’m also incredibly indecisive when it comes to picking out fabric for the chairs. I’m gonna need Matt to take charge like he did with the rugs and lamps: I pick out a few, hem and haw over pros and cons, then he picks up one and throws it in the cart (physical or online). And that’s that. Bless.
The coolest part of the last seven months, though? Matt and I have cohabited like freakin’ champions. We were both coming out of living-alone situations, and Matt had never shacked up with a lady-friend before (and y’all know my track record in that arena is somewhat sub-par), so I think we were both a little bit nervous. Outside of one incident that involved me getting pissed off and knocking a pile of his clothes (that I’d just folded) on to the floor, we haven’t really had any arguments. Minus the underroos in the floor, he’s remarkably easy to live with.
At the risk of sounding squishy and gross, I hit the relationship lottery with Matt. He doesn’t spend his days in a never-ending quest to guilt me, he doesn’t purposefully demean me or belittle me, and he doesn’t emotionally blackmail me. Even better, he replaces those godawful things with real, positive traits and actions. We share the same weird humor (even if he stares at me blankly for approximately 60% of my movie references — we’re working on it) and we genuinely enjoy the other’s company. He gets stuff off the high shelves and kills the bugs (except for the big ones that involve a team effort because #scary), and I load the dishwasher and make him eat some plants.
I really thought I would have some big epiphany lightbulb, an *a-ha!* moment when this guy came around, but it wasn’t like a bolt of lightning. I expected that, something akin to being hit by a bus, but it wasn’t like that at all. It was just good. And it stayed good, and like the comfiest of sweatshirts, you don’t wear it for a year and a half and expect to suddenly need a lightning bolt to realize how great it is. It’s cozy and soft and you’ve known it from the start, and you don’t need some epiphany moment because *duh* of course it’s the best.
(I realize that in this scenario I made Matt into a sweatshirt, but I think y’all get it, and besides, he’ll probably like that anyway)
He’s pretty fantastic.
And now, since everything is finally moved (into the garage, at least), we can spend some time enjoying it. Which is the best part of it all. Ten years ago, I never expected to stop my gypsy wandering. Now (to really close this out with a groan) I’ve realized — there’s no place like home.
I’ll show myself to the door now.