Yes, The Man is here. He's been here for a little over two weeks, and we are adjusting to living together. I've not written about it because I'm not sure how to do that yet. The Man has always read my blog, so I'm not sure why writing about him and us feels different - more dangerous - now that he's here. But it does.
I think it's the proximity. It's hard to write about us with one half of us sitting at the other end of the couch gazing at me while I type. Seriously. Staring at me. AWKWARD.
But really, it's the fact that we're still bumpy. We're still adjusting. Things are good, but they're not perfect. Not yet. And there are feelings being hurt often enough without me joking about things like couch gazing.
It's also difficult - nearly impossible, really - for me to write amidst ANY sort of distractions. I am a quiet, still room kind of writer. An alone kind of writer. And, for obvious reasons, there hasn't been much in the way of alone time since The Man arrived. Writing even this short and rather pointless post has been a ridiculously laborious process.
We're getting our mutual groove worked out though, and rather quickly for two people who've gone from seeing each other twice a year to living together. I'll be back soon, so help me god. And I'll bring tales to tell.
Bonjour: Paris Surrounds
1 day ago