In true New York fashion, I think I fell in love with my boyfriend and his exposed-brick walled apartment. In that order.
Today I needed a day off. I tried to sleep late, but am nearly incapable of it. After Alex left, I sprang from the bed and finished cleaning up after my friends from last night, when they’d descended upon the place for a Soprano’s, spaghetti, and shiraz-polluted evening. I aired the smoke out. I dusted his shelves. I cleaned the glass coffee table twice – I am still mastering a streak-free technique. I went through our vacation photos and vowed to put them in an album today. I took a long shower, admiring the nice job I’d done when I scrubbed it with bleach in my skivvies (I should be getting my NOW rejection letter any day now, right?) this weekend during our cleaning binge. I white-stripped. I tweezed.
I took the subway back to “my” place. I still have the suitcase from Mexico on the floor. The bed is unmade from the last time we stayed here – weeks ago? Everything is dusty. The last bag of wash-and-fold is spilled out on my bed. The hamper is half full but I can’t imagine what is in there. I have a pile of mail to go through. I will not go near the refrigerator monsters. This is not me, this is not how I live but, really – I don’t live here.
Piece by piece, I seem to be relocating. It wasn not planned, and it is not intentional, but I cannot keep running uptown every time I need to drop off my dry-cleaning. Today I’ll bring the phone charger and the good conditioner; a girl can’t live with her phone on one bar and head-and-shouldered hair forever. We know it is not time yet for a full move; it has barely been five months. But I am not buying a double of the Lancôme mascara or the Chanel lip-gloss, so a-cohabitating they go. Before me.
There is this thing you do when you do not live here or there. You do not buy pink flowered sheets. You don't get new furniture when you need to because you do not know how long you will actually use it. You go months without changing a burnt-out bulb because you are never there at night. Part of you is always in transit, and not just because your skirt is the East 90s while your sweater is in the West 20s.
So when he tells you over the weekend that he wants you to consider his place your home, you feel relieved, as you had been starting to – anyway, and it is nice to know you’re not the only one tiring of the limbo.
tell me he gave you a key.
this is the almost exact same living arrangement I have with mine, except that mine has roommates. I feel bad but not bad enough to stop it. hope that doesn't make me an A-hole.
:-) ... I should hope so ... exposed brick work, good lad!!
those are the greatest days... when you have to take a couple days off work just to catch up with laundry, and of course you probably take some of his and do it also. And maybe I'm just a cynic here, but those nights that happen about once every three weeks or so when you do decide to have a girls night out and go home... and you bring one of his shirts that you were going to wash and wear it, that's a painful day. Just move in,keep the second apartment, but don't force yourself to have that ever so infrequent night alone...because it hurts.
Does anyone who comments on this site even know one another, because, I found this site when I was being constantly reminded how smitten I was over an ex... so I looked up the word, and found this site, and since I've become single.And I'm fearing bitterness...In love with that man who made me smitten.But its always about me lately(because that's all I ever notice anymore)Nevermind...
awww! that is the cutest thing ever! i am so jealous! im still waiting to hear that ("consider my place your home")
5 | Anonymous | March 15, 2004 07:17 PM
hey alicia, i dont know anybody here. i found this page thru someone else's link and loved the writing. i was hooked and have been visiting daily ever since
6 | stef | March 15, 2004 07:25 PM
love the writing, love the girl, love the sex & love the guest blogger. *SIGH*
Just stop hinting it--MOVE IN ALREADY. people have gotten married in less time. You can save on rent--and take ME to dinner. Aha ha aha aha h
I feel like I'm reading my girlfriend's blog. because this is *exactly* the type of stuff I would imagine her writing ... to the last letter.
8 | joel | March 16, 2004 09:36 AM