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Climax, Anti-Climactic
What was, until yesterday, my room has a corner piled high with bags of clothes and boxes of books that are not mine. A hulking, dangerous-looking stereo broods upon the floor like some below the window, subwoofers atop the speakers like futuristic rocket-launchers - I am almost afraid to approach the bass-throbbing beast.
It's official. Laura lives here now, and will until at least the end of June (barring one or the other of us having a surprise psychotic breakdown), at which point we will decide whether things are working such that we wish to continue the arrangement. I, of course, hope to hell that we do.
We made the move yesterday. Sck5000 kindly provided us use of his vehicle and we managed to shift everything in 2 trips. Laura's step-mum said hardly a word to me, for which I was thankful; telling your kid to get out with virtually no notice or reasonable explanation with only 2 months or so left of school is not something that leaves me impressed. Just before we left with the second load, while Laura was saying her goodbyes, she offered Jane (the wicked step-mother) a hug and was rebuffed by crossed arms and a curt, "I'd rather not."
Thanks, Jane - yer a fucking peach (or "beetch", but that's a story for another day. Well, why another day? It's my journal, I'll digress if I want to. Sometime last week, Laura and I took a walk up Roncesvalles, hunting for deli stuff at a late hour. We wandered into one of the many Polish delicatessens on that street and I took my position by the cheese counter. Two staff members gossiped by the till at the far end of the store. After perhaps a minute or two one of them looked up. "Yes?" she asked, without moving. "I'd like some service," I said, and she - slowly, as if resenting the imposition of an actual customer in her establishment - began to move towards us. And I suddenly snapped; I don't pay money to be treated like an asshole. "Never mind," I said, "we'll take our business elsewhere." I walked fast to the door and out; Laura followed more slowly and had the dubious pleasure of hearing the woman, in a heavy Polish accent, mutter "Beetch!" at my back. Anyway).
And so, here we are. We're sharing the bedroom, but it is also doubling as her office; we're sharing my office (whence lives the computer), but I am the dominant partner in that small space.
Will it work? I hope so. I even, in my optimistic moments, think so.
It's a strange way to end my life-long bachelor-hood, suddenly and without anything other than some beers with Laura and SCK5000 as ritual celebration of the new places in which we both find ourselves. But perhaps appropriate - we are the couple that could not remember the precise date of our first anniversary.
It's official. Laura lives here now, and will until at least the end of June (barring one or the other of us having a surprise psychotic breakdown), at which point we will decide whether things are working such that we wish to continue the arrangement. I, of course, hope to hell that we do.
We made the move yesterday. Sck5000 kindly provided us use of his vehicle and we managed to shift everything in 2 trips. Laura's step-mum said hardly a word to me, for which I was thankful; telling your kid to get out with virtually no notice or reasonable explanation with only 2 months or so left of school is not something that leaves me impressed. Just before we left with the second load, while Laura was saying her goodbyes, she offered Jane (the wicked step-mother) a hug and was rebuffed by crossed arms and a curt, "I'd rather not."
Thanks, Jane - yer a fucking peach (or "beetch", but that's a story for another day. Well, why another day? It's my journal, I'll digress if I want to. Sometime last week, Laura and I took a walk up Roncesvalles, hunting for deli stuff at a late hour. We wandered into one of the many Polish delicatessens on that street and I took my position by the cheese counter. Two staff members gossiped by the till at the far end of the store. After perhaps a minute or two one of them looked up. "Yes?" she asked, without moving. "I'd like some service," I said, and she - slowly, as if resenting the imposition of an actual customer in her establishment - began to move towards us. And I suddenly snapped; I don't pay money to be treated like an asshole. "Never mind," I said, "we'll take our business elsewhere." I walked fast to the door and out; Laura followed more slowly and had the dubious pleasure of hearing the woman, in a heavy Polish accent, mutter "Beetch!" at my back. Anyway).
And so, here we are. We're sharing the bedroom, but it is also doubling as her office; we're sharing my office (whence lives the computer), but I am the dominant partner in that small space.
Will it work? I hope so. I even, in my optimistic moments, think so.
It's a strange way to end my life-long bachelor-hood, suddenly and without anything other than some beers with Laura and SCK5000 as ritual celebration of the new places in which we both find ourselves. But perhaps appropriate - we are the couple that could not remember the precise date of our first anniversary.
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Well, Jane clearly isn't. For several quite legitimate reasons, her father is not in a position to do anything about it.
"...I'd suggest you move into a larger space.
It's not as bad as all that, fortunately. As Toronto apartments go,
Iwe have a pretty big one. The bedroom is substantial, the common area is larger and there is also an office so - as right this minute, for instance - Laura can work inherour room while I "work" inmyour office.Over the long run, though, we will want more room.