Hi friends, long time no chatter. I apologize for that, but I think my excuse is pretty good:
I moved in with The Irishman.
I've never lived with a partner before (or boyfriend, as one would say in the US), and, while I've no doubt that The Irishman is the loveliest man I've ever met, I like to think of myself as the quintessential SINGLE INDEPENDENT LADY and therefore have no need for a man, let alone to cohabitate with one. I've been having mini panic attacks for the last month. DCKatastrophe gave me a stern talking to a few weeks ago, though, and lovingly sent me her well-worn copy of "The Good Girl's Guide to Living in Sin" so I could prepare myself.
And prepare I did. When I finally made the decision to take the plunge, The Irishman and I saw a few apartments in our price range and winced at how gross they were. We decided to be responsible and I moved into his apartment, a bigger than normal 1-bed flat near Highbury. I was month-to-month at my old flat so I scheduled the move for this past Saturday, 31 July. Arsenal, however, had other plans; Premiership football kicked off on Saturday, and parking regulations meant we wouldn't be able to park infront of the apartment to unload a car or van. So at very short notice, I had to fast-forward my plans and have everything packed and ready to go on Friday night. Nevermind that I had 2 straight 12-hour days at work last week with clients in from out of town. Yeesh. I was super bummed because I had been looking forward to one last Friday night on my own, with my roomies, eating mac-n-cheese from the box on the sofa while drunk after a night at the pub, watching bad tv and laughing.
Again, its not that I objected to moving in with The Irishman, or even didn't want to, but I really grieved for the things I would lose - my freedom being one, and my lovely roommates being another. I was living in a share with a couple and another roomie for a year and they were awesome. We really felt like a little family and somehow our house seemed to absorb everyone into quiet corners so many days we would all be home and I would feel like I was home alone for hours. They put up with my knitting and my parents visits, and I contributed occasional homemade chocolate chip cookies. If you ever wanted to chill out in the garden with some rose, my roommates (at least one of them) were game. Luckily for me, The Irishman's place (sorry, OUR place) is only 10 minutes up the road from my old share, still in leafy Islington, so I can still see them all.
So yeah. The move is done and we spent all weekend trying to find places to put STUFF. You've read it here first people - The Irishman has a lot of shoes. Not as many as me, but a lot more than you'd think! And between us, there are more electronic gadget chargers, extension cords, cables, etc, etc. It's mind-boggling. We only had two minor tiffs during the whole process, which is pretty good overall. We're off to IKEA on Thursday, though, for the requisite flat-pack furniture shopping trip, so expect an update on that tally then. Last night I got a bit stroppy as we both sort of lapsed into our independent-person selves: we spent 2 hours on the sofa watching the same program but absorbed into our own worlds. It sort of hit me that this is it, and its up to us to decide how we want to live – together. Scary. Yet ever so exciting.