Done. Dusted.
We have Moved In Together.
I have physically picked up everything I own (and it turned out to be a frightening quantity of shite) and moved it half a dozen blocks away. I got to drive a 2-tonne truck. My hands are a mess of grazes and bruises. My legs even more so. The cat is pacing the polished floors yowling through the night. I fear I will be a very bad parent, because to deal with him I shouted a lot then shut him in the farthest away room I could. I fell asleep sour with guilt and woke up cranky and swore at the shower.
I love pacing the polished floors myself, just looking at how all our stuff fits together, watching his cat and mine as they circle each other warily but curiously. The sound of the key in the door has developed a new significance. My ears prick up and my heart pounds. I want to have lots of exciting show-and-tell for him. We keep catching each other's eye and grinning with delight and excitement.
I feel a bit scatty and overwhelmed. I have new normal to get used to. But I have an equally disoriented buddy to go the distance with. Hold my hand. The ground is shifting.
(I love you.)
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