Wednesday October 19, 2016


It has been a while since I got a chance to write last. Kyle and I survived another two-week separation. I drove to his place, picked him and many of his belongings up, and brought him to my place. He was going to be staying a week with me so he could look for work in order to move in with me. At first, it was fun. I took him to some of my favorite hiking spots, we planned meals, went food shopping together, and went mini-golfing together. Even the little things like planning the meals were fun, like a novelty. It was like we were playing at house and we enjoyed it greatly.

Then I returned to work. Because he was there, I stayed up later than usual to spend time with him. That resulted in me waking up late and having to drive to work instead of taking the train. Because I spent my two commuting hours driving in a car and not working on work on the train, I come home stressed because I was behind in everything. I worked on my work while he made food. It only got worse as the week went on. I drove to work every day and the work piled up. I actually drove him to a trail-head to hike with some of my friends and stayed in the car grading papers. By the end of the first week, I was starting to get fed up with the stuff sitting around my apartment that belonged to him. It wasn’t just his boxes, but the things he worked on daily spread throughout my living room. Dishes piled up at an alarming rate and I just didn’t have the time to do them because I was busy catching up on work.

We also had several disagreements as to lifestyle. We mostly compromised on the solutions, but I really wasn’t terribly happy with the outcomes. But I suppose if something is truly a compromise then nobody is happy. One thing that I liked is that when we disagreed, we would talk it over while we cuddled. I liked it because it helps remind me that I love him, even while being annoyed and disagreeing. It’s surprising, but it really seems to work!

He had two interviews and seemed uninterested in applying elsewhere. One interview had gone well and he got the job. Unfortunately, they required him to get a ridiculous amount of tests done including a physical, a PPD, background check, fingerprinting, and a drug tests. They required him to pay for all of them. Neither of us could understand how a job making less than $10/hr thought they could find someone who could just pay for all of those tests upfront and still be willing to make under $10/hr.   The other interview went well, but they wanted him to return for a second interview, so he decided that he would stay a second week.

Finally on Monday of this week I straightened up the living room the best that I could. I asked him to find homes for some of his boxes and gave him some options for places that he could keep his stuff. I also asked him to take care of the dishes. In addition, he promised that dinner would be waiting for me when I came home.   Then I received a text that morning that he had a seizure and wouldn’t be able to get much done. That was understandable. Annoying and with the perfect timing, but understandable. I finished work and drove home, picking him up a few food items he had been craving post-seizure. When I got there, I sat on the couch for a few minutes, feeling overworked and overwhelmed.   Then I got up and started on making food. Unfortunately the only food I had to cook was something that would take a while. I had planned to make it on Sunday and then something happened and I didn’t get a chance to. It took me almost two hours to make the food while he sat and played on his computer, complaining of his headache and how the light hurt his eyes. I think he could sense my annoyance building so he said he was going to sit in the dark bedroom for a while. I walked in there to see him playing on his tablet in the dark. Yeah, that will help his head.

Eventually, I finished dinner and we sat down to eat. And he complained of the blandness of the food. I thought it tasted fine, good even. I was tired, burned out, frustrated, and with his comment I was livid. I know food is his hobby and everything, but clearly he doesn’t understand that I made the effort to make us food purely for the fact that we both needed something to eat. Given all of the work and effort I put into not going to bed as soon as I got home and made us food instead, I was angry. I finally calmed down enough to say something about it and he replied that he couldn’t help it.

I’m starting to wonder if I’m doing the right thing. He’s moving into my apartment and I get that I need to compromise, but it’s starting to seem like I’m doing more of the compromising. I’ve lived alone for over three years now and I’m used to it. Sure, it got lonely, but now it seems unfamiliar, scary, and crowded. Maybe I’m just scared. Scared he isn’t who he seems to be. Scared that he is. And it doesn’t help that I’ve taken to referring to him by a pet name that I call him because half of the time, I find myself wanting to call him my ex-husband’s name. Why the fuck would I want to do that!? Maybe it means that I’m getting serious about him? Maybe it means that he’s going to fuck with my mind like my ex-husband did? He must love me an awful lot to give up everything he has where he lives to come and live with me. Sure, there are benefits other than just getting to live with me. Maybe I’m just scared. I’m definitely untrusting. It’s not that I don’t trust him, it’s just that I don’t trust anyone anymore. It seemed okay when it was just a short fling like with Bryan. And Diego somehow convinced me that he would never cheat on me. He didn’t even talk to other women. It’s not in their culture. But there were other things I didn’t trust about him. Why don’t I trust Kyle then? Is it because it’s the real thing, love again? Or is it because there’s something not to trust? I don’t know, but I’m really starting to freak out. I am most certainly scared. Of what, I can’t exactly say.

He’s apparently leaving to go back for a week this weekend. He will spend his time packing his stuff and I’m supposed to come and get him the following weekend. It’s going to take a lot of adjusting to get used to living with him. I never had problems living with guys before. To be fair, excepting my two years in a college dorm room and one year of grad school, I have never lived alone. I have always lived with the guys I was dating. Now it’s been about three years and someone else is going to be moving in with me. Am I just too old and crotchety?

Oh, and to make matters more interesting, we stopped using protection against pregnancy again. Every time we have sex, he rolls a die. If it’s even, we use protection for sex. If it’s odd, we don’t. I’m not sure if it’s a loaded die or what, but I’ve found that every time so far, we don’t’ use protection. I’m back to being unafraid about that though. I’m sure it’s just part of my biological clock ticking because my mind logically tells me that I should be. How can I be scared and unsure of Kyle and not scared of having a child with him?

I am looking forward to the time Kyle will be gone so I can return to my own schedule. I’m sure when he comes back we’ll eventually settle into some kind of routine that works for the both of us.


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