Last night the Man and I watched The Tourist. It was... meh? And also kind of zzzzz... Stuff happened the whole time, but at no point was I engaged with anything. I was kind of bored, actually. It was too bad, because in general I enjoy Johnny Depp (who doesn't enjoy him? Seriously?) and Angelina Jolie. But...this time? No.
Yeah, so in a couple of days I will send my landlady an email giving her the required 60 days notice that I'm moving out at the end of my lease.This is because, as I've stated on several occasions here, I'll be packing up and moving in with the Man. The Man is terrified. He's never lived with anyone before and he's afraid of what he'll set into motion by making this move. I am very VERY ready for the possibility that I will drive the moving van over to his place and find that he will not unlock the door, and that he'll pretend not to be home until I go away. I am actually mentally prepared for this.
Why then? Why would I still want to do this? If he's so scared (not of being with me, but of the potential futures that could occur by taking this step that literally billions of people have taken before him - people who, fail or succeed, didn't die immediately) why am I still pushing for this move?
Because. Because we've been together for more than three years and I'm not getting any younger and if we're going to do this thing, I want to DO THIS THING. I'm doing this because 2011 is my Year of Adventure. I'm doing it because I know I'm a great roommate and partner. Because I like living with someone. Because I find it ridiculous that we're still coordinating spending time together (we spend 99.9% of nights at my place anyway). And finally, I'm doing this because of something I wish were not true: If I didn't make it happen it, it would never happen and we'd be dating until we were 90 fucking years old:
Man: So what are your plans tonight?
Leslie: Well I'm going to read a book and take my heart medication. Are you going to old-person-yoga?
Man: Yes. I'll come over after.
Leslie: Ok. Don't break a hip.
So there. This is not a fairy tale, but I think it's the right thing to do. I'll get back to you on this sometime in the middle of July. Maybe the Man will have stopped hiding under the bed by then...
EDITED TO ADD:
I'm sorry if this post is especially crabby or hate-y. Know this: I am nutso crazy in love with the Man. He is beautiful and smart and funny and good. But on this issue we just DO NOT agree.
And that is hard. ...le sigh...
2 comments:
The Tourist was TOTALLY "meh". We walked out and all looked at each other, and I think finally Wonderland or I may have said, "Well, the scenery was pretty...and I liked Angelina's clothes sometimes...."
You tell him I lived with you for a while and you are an excellent roommate. But NEVER TOUCH YOUR CLOTHES, not even to be nice and fold laundry because you just don't like that.
Yes, fine: I am a tyrant..
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