2002-07-17 - 7:35 p.m.

For a minute I got pissed off, thinking about the rug that STILL needs to be picked up, and the shit still in my apartment, and the mirror to be hung. And then I thought, hey, wait a minute. I don't have to do all that shit either. So I went for the necessities - my laundry and a toothbrush - and decided to take the night for myself, to stay home and write a little and get in my pajamas at 8pm. Watch whatever I want, smoke cigarettes, read journals for two hours.

And that little story brings us to two different issues of my new cohabitation.

First, the alone time. I still get some, of course. But last night I was eyeing up the laptop, itching to get on and write, and I didn't do it, because HE'S here. And he doesn't get in my business, but he does occasionally come in from whatever he's doing to tell me something or kiss me. (hey, shut up, we've only been living together two weeks, ok? Honeymoon.) And you know, this is secret. MINE.

And second. We've fallen into a bit of a stereotype when it comes to this place. He does the big stuff, and I do the little everyday things. If I cook, he'll do dishes, and we have a cleaning person,so it's not like I'm a long suffering housefrau. But, you know, it's me that gets the toilet paper, me who picks up the newspapers from all over the floor, me who makes the bed.

The first few days here, when I made the bed, the boyfriend said, "Oh, please don't make the bed. I'll feel too guilty if you make it all the time and I HATE making the bed." So I said, "no problem, I don't care if you don't do it - I like it made, I'll make it. And all that has worked out pretty well so far - he hates old food sitting in the refrigerator; I'm all too comfortable throwing it out after it becomes a fuzzy science experiment. So he cleans it out.

He's encouraged me to point out his messes, and he'll clean them up. He just doesn't NOTICE. 'I want this place to be neat, it's such a great apartment, but sometimes I'm oblivious. Just tell me, really, I'll do it right away.'

Ahem. Am I your mommy? No, I thought not. I should not have to tell a 40 year old man to pick up the sports section he left sprawled on the floor in front of the couch. I shouldn't have to TELL HIM. Is this a completely unreasonable expectation?

Anyway, I have found a way to combat it that's healthiest for me. I won't do it either. Because I do have the tendency to martyr myself like that. It can wait until tomorrow, when we can both do it.

*deep breath* Oh, yes, I can compromise.

last - next