Guys, MeganFest 2010 is AWESOME.
Not awesome in a way that's like, I want every day to be like this!, but awesome in the same way that Christmas is. It's an annual event, one to look forward to, one that is good for the soul but also, if it happened every day, we would be hollow, grumpy, sugar-coma bitches and no good could possibly come from that which we previously cherished.
It's not that I don't miss Gary, it's that I'm really enjoying having my own space. When you share a 640 square foot apartment with someone, you really lose any and all personal space. I can see him or hear him or sense his presence even if I'm in the bathroom and he's hanging out in the storage room, for whatever weird reason. It is good that I am not a nervous pee-er, because there is no getting around that. The walls - they are thin.
Our stuff overlaps, we step on each other, and there is never enough counter space, but we love each other and we're not married so we kind of have to be, at a bare minimum, nice to each other all the time.
Not having him around is kind of refreshing. There's no one to scowl at me when I dump the entire contents of my purse on the coffee table and then leave it there. There's no one judging me for eating toast for dinner. Or not having dinner at all, and spending my dinner money on pedicures and popcorn and a Julia Roberts movie.
Damn, I love Julia Roberts. Something about her makes even the most pretentious, self-serving first-world-problems schlock appealing. Maybe she's the devil. It's the only logical explanation.
But I do miss him around an hour before bedtime, when we're usually curled up on the same end of the couch or hanging out, giving each other mutual foot massages and nice compliments and watching vampire trash on TV.
When Gary and I had been dating for about three months, he left town for 18 days to go visit his Dad in Germany. Oh my lord, that was the longest not-quite-three-weeks of my life. I missed him with every fibre of my being. My soul hurt. I could barely breathe, I missed him so much.
I went over to his apartment (now our apartment) to water his plants and I noticed that he'd left a previously worn t-shirt on the floor. I picked it up and (then did the most repulsive thing ever) sniffed it. I burst into tears because obviously it smelled like him and OHHH GAAAARRRRYYY I MIIIIISSSSSS YYYOOOOUUUUU.
Two and a half years later, we fast forward to tonight. I'm feeling a little sentimental, so I rifled through his dresser and pulled out one of his super-soft man tshirts to sleep in. Because, you know, it'll smell like him and be the second best thing to snuggling.
We've been living together for almost two years now. We use the same laundry detergent. Sadly, his tshirt doesn't smell like him. It smells like my clean tshirts. Which is just sort of like cottony clean. Pleasant, but not really what I was going for.
I suppose I could go sniff his laundry, but dudes. That is SERIOUSLY UNAPPEALING. I'm in love with this man, but smell his laundry? Oh, god no. I'd like to stay in love, thanks.
1 day ago