He asked if I wanted coffee, and I told him no, intending to make myself a mug of hot chocolate that morning. He asked if I wanted breakfast, and I said no, envisioning the bowl of cereal I would have to start my day. He didn’t listen, or so he said, when be brought me a mug of coffee and served me a plate of ham and potatoes.
May was an eventful month, and as such it was hectic and stressful, but maybe that’s putting it lightly.
For the first week, I was challenged to have all my stuff packed and ready to move out by that Saturday. While it was mostly packed, Libra had issues with his truck and we postponed the moving day a week. To make things easier, I brought down a few things in the car, and also picked up some groceries.
I managed to get sick by that weekend as well, as the weather had gotten warner and my room was stifling, so I put the fan in the window and slept with inadequate blankets. I spent the rest of the month clearing out my respiratory system, only feeling better after I stopped taking my expectorant/cough suppressant pill.
While my immune system was fighting the good fight, Libra managed to fix up the truck and I went with him to help on a transporter gig he picked up. I enjoyed the thought of going, as I’m always up for a road trip and to see things I don’t normally get to see. The trip as a whole was a decent way to see if we could put up with each other for a long period of time, and for the most part we did. The excursion took longer than anticipated, so I had no sleep to help me get over my cold, and I also had to go to work within an hour of when we returned.
A few days later, it was my car being transported, on Libra’s trailer, to Libra’s house, as full of my stuff as we could possibly fill it. That turned into filling the entryway of Libra’s house once we arrived here, I haven’t done the greatest job of clearing out the entryway and moving things either upstairs or to wherever would be appropriate.
For one thing, I’m not a fan of the upstairs. Eating, sleeping, and everything in between is done on the main floor, so it feels like extra effort to go all the way upstairs for other clothes I have, for example. I wouldn’t mind setting up my video games in the room upstairs that has a reclining sofa, but I don’t want to come all the way back downstairs to sleep if I’ve pulled an all-nighter on a game. Second, I haven’t exactly felt comfortable going upstairs. Lately I’ve pushed through that feeling, a feeling I can’t really explain, but I pushed through that feeling because I was… I don’t know, anxious? Stressed? I needed to get away, not so much because I needed space but because I felt like I needed to give Libra some space.
Even though my things have been assigned that room to reside within, it doesn’t feel like it’s my room. Only after I changed out the wall hangings did J’s spare bedroom even start to feel like I might live there, but it still felt like I was just consuming space.
So with that thought in mind, I asked myself what I would need to do to feel like I permanently resided in this house, or at least to feel like that room is absolutely mine. I bought a can of paint, in a shade of purple that was bold and vibrant. I don’t quite know what I’m going to do with it yet, but I do have a few ideas. I don’t know if the purple will cover all of the blue, or if I’ll want it to once I figure out what to do. Does that even matter? Maybe I’ll change it every so often, maybe I’ll put some wooden lattice on the ceiling and hang silk wisteria or white Christmas lights from it. Maybe I’ll finally have my Ikea disco lamp on the ceiling, in place of the ceiling lamp that’s in place. I have plenty of time to decide, I think.
I’ve been trying to change my work schedule to ten-hour days, but there was a mishap when I first submitted the paperwork as it seems to have been misplaced. It wouldn’t be so bad, except for the nights I get out at 10, get home at 11, and have to wake up around 6:30 the next morning to be at work by 9. My new schedule starts next week, and by asking to start no sooner than 10 am, I have a fairly consistent schedule. It might help alleviate some of my stress in the morning, and the extra day off will be good for getting things done around here… maybe.
With so much changing, and so many maladies, it’s no wonder that things became a powder keg within the last week.
I had noticed a change in Libra. He wasn’t kissing me as much. If he had a rough time with someone else, he wouldn’t discuss it with me like he once did. I was feeling insecure about it, but maybe it would pass, or so I figured. When I let it out, it didn’t come out that I had noticed things had changed, but that I felt like I was less than: less than important, less than special. I don’t quite remember how I worded it. It was labeled as me being insecure, and i was told I need to tell him when I’m feeling certain things like this instead of bottling it up. Just when I was regaining confidence in myself and the courage to keep going, Libra said I was coming on too strong, and that we should take a step back. A step back from what? We’re not really dating, we’re not “Facebook official,” we really just live together. But he realized that he was withdrawing from me, and that cut into me because I thought maybe I was overthinking for no reason. No, I had a reason, I knew something was wrong, and I knew that somehow I was the issue.
That night, I went to bed wanting to fight, to work to get back to how things were before, to how they felt, but it was like I was facing a brick wall. I woke up the next morning, conceding that I had lost, and defeatedly asking for a bed to be put in to my room upstairs. That was the morning he made me coffee and breakfast, despite my objections. We talked a bit more, and while it seemed we had settled this, it’s still inside me.
The poison. Or the cut and the scar.
The thought that I was too much, I was coming on too strongly.
The thought that I’m less important, that I can’t be a sounding board for his issues.
It’s the insecurity, and I swear I never felt this insecure before. I used to do nice things just because I wanted to do nice things, to help people out when need be. I had my selfish moments, when I thought of myself and what I wanted. I do nice things for Libra, and he’s not used to people buying things for him, or what have you, but I can’t stop because he’s actually good to me and I don’t want to take advantage of that. And when I want to be selfish, when I want to ask him for things I’d like or need, I can’t get it out of my mind that I should do something for him, or that I need to make sure he’s enjoying himself. One thing I wanted to find was someone who is willing to do things I want to do, even if their happiness comes from mine, but I’m a wreck now where I actually want them to have a good time.
Libra is good to me. He’s good for me. Yes, I want to keep him in my life, and yes I wish we were something romantic, something that could escalate and become more serious. He doesn’t want that right now, and if he did it wouldn’t be with me. But I know what he’s going through, I know why it can’t be.
Maybe this is just another thing I’ve needed along the way. I suppose, then, that living with J was closure I didn’t need. To think, I used to have a backbone, I stood up for myself to him. But this time, I could have lost my living arrangements that came when I needed them most, and that’s what I feared. Maybe what I need is for people to stop having power over me somehow. I don’t yet feel like Libra has that power over me, though. Maybe that’s why I cry, because I can be vulnerable around him, or I can assert myself. Just the same, I’m scared that my vulnerability will bother him, or that I’ll be assertive at the wrong time or for the wrong reasons.
That was May. This is June.
I’m waiting for the dust to settle, when apparently I need to catch life off guard.
If I say I’m going to fight for what I want, I can’t be so willing to retreat to my corner of the house.
And I live here too, so if I want things on the main floor, I should be allowed. Wait, I am allowed certain things, within reason.
I need to start saying it’s my house, too. I have to stop thinking that, when I ask for his opinion, it’s because it’s his space and instead I should think of it as making sure we want the same things or agree on something.
And I should stop thinking that there’s an expiration date on this. The cynic in me is waiting for the eighth or ninth month to come around, as if to say that’s when I’ll be moving out again, as it’s become the norm for me since leaving New Jersey. I don’t want to make that a self-fulfilling prophecy, as anyone would be bothered by the little things after living with someone that long, but I might think that means it’s my time to leave.
So I’ll paint the room. I’ll put clothes in closets, knick-knacks on shelves, and stuffed animals… somewhere, I haven’t decided yet. I’ll cook in his pots and pans and eat out of my dishes. I’ll sleep on his bed with my sheets and blanket. The dust may not settle, but I will, this will be my home. I will heal my wounds and find my inner strength, and I want to leave here in better condition than when I moved in.
And since relationships and addresses don’t seem to last, I might as well just try to have some fun with this one.