We'll build the dreams we treasure...

I forgot how nice it is to live with someone When you're an older gal, like myself, and the rest of the world has mostly paired off, or due to other circumstances, you sometimes find yourself living solo. At first,this may be a difficult adjustment. Sure, it's nice to ave your OWN place and decorate it anyway you want and invite ONLY your friends over and all that - but you get used to it. You get used to being alone, silence, solitude, meditation, space, etc.
When F moved in here last week, I thought I'd go batty, but I would eventually get used to his being here, and in my space, all the time. After all, we're getting married, so I'd better get used to it. There was this sort of sadness whenever F left my place to go back to his on Sunday nights or I headed back down to my house after a sleep over.
And it's true that now that we live together, it's like a sleepover every night. We cuddle up in bed and watch classic movies together before we fall asleep, we read interesting things on the Internet from our perspective laptops and then email them back and forth to each other. I do talk to on the phone a lot less now, which is a relief because, as everyone knows, I detest speaking on the phone. What I really hate is chit-chat, the kind that folks assume you enjoy just because you have a uterus - hate it.
Since we lived 45 minutes apart and couldn't see each other every day, we were forced to speak on the phone rather often - now, not so much; so that's definitely a bonus.
Also - -F takes out the trash, cleans the kitchen after I mess it up and unloads the dishwasher. For those of you married gals who are rolling your eyes right about now - Yes, I know it won't last and I AM enjoying it while I can.

I need a break. I need alone time. I need MY OWN SPACE.

I love F and I'm so glad that he moved in and that we're getting hitched but I am just a person who, whether through habit or nature, has a deep-down NEED to be alone.

When I was dating F, he had a suitcase that appeared to be packed on the floor of his bedroom. I never asked what was in that suitcase or why it was packed and sitting on the floor of his bedroom for two years. I figured: a) I enjoy a man with an aura of mystery and b) if it concerned me, he would tell me. Besides, I might have mentioned that F has some other peculiar habits, like piling (see moving day) - anyway.

I now know what was in the suitcase.

10 years worth of credit card offers, bank statements, credit card statements, receipts and any other random piece of junk mail that F may have encountered. You see, F fears identity theft, so like a wise lad, he never throws any document away that some thief could use to purloin his identity. However, F never had a shredder, nor apparently, a fireplace. So, F carried this 74 pound bag of detritus around for years, waiting for the day when he happened upon a volcano - or a gal with a document shredder.

Suffice it to say that F has been shredding 8 hours a day since he got here and I am about to lose my ever-loving mind. Or run away. And I now know why F asked me to marry him.