All is well in this rainy, misty little corner of the east coast, except that school and work mean I have no time to write or look for a job (in Argentina!) or read novels or do other important life things.
Living together was a little rough for the first couple of days weeks but now it seems like it’s getting better. What I thought would be hard about it is constantly being together, and having to share chores and worry about money and stuff. But it turns out that what’s harder (for me) is learning to let someone else into my daily routines and most intimate moments. I’ve lived away from home for six years now, and been really happy with that freedom and independence. I love doing things my own way, making my own schedule, seeing who I want to see when I want to see them, and having peaceful moments to do nurturing things for myself. But now H is here and everything is different. Suddenly I feel out of control, because a whole different person is sharing this space and this time with me, with his own desires and needs. I think it’s a little easier for him, because he’s used to living with family, and used to that intrusive warmth of Argentines in general. Mostly what I’m beginning to realize is that living with someone, you need to sculpt out those little moments for yourself again because they ground you and make you sit back and realize how amazing it is, despite all the little annoyances, that the person you love put his entire life on hold to come halfway around the world to be with you.
Now we have channeled the difficulties of the first few days into a few key moments. I read on some trashy but wonderful gossip website that Sarah Jessica Parker said the secret to her success in her long marriage was allowing herself to hate her husband one day a week. I think that’s sort of what me and H do, not on purpose, about every week or two. Every single time we go to the damn grocery store, we end up having a huge fight about SOMETHING. We don’t even have to be IN the grocery store for it to start, it’s more like the knowledge that we’re going signals to our brains that it’s time to get out all that pent-up rage. It’s about my driving, his need to buy nutrient-less white bread, whatever. Any excuse to finally get it all out, in a setting that means it can’t get TOO ugly and during the constantly distracting process of buying food that means that three minutes later, we forget what we were mad about. I actually think it’s a pretty good system, both cathartic and efficient. By the time everything is put away at home, we’re ok again.
Future topics to stay tuned for: H’s brief but exciting experience as an illegal immigrant worker, and H’s ridiculous manipulations of the poor, poor English language. Love it!