The House. His House. Our House?

I went to the house to help label things to keep and things to junk. The floors need a good cleaning and the walls need a fresh coat of paint but otherwise its a nice simple home.

There was a few times I felt so rigid, stiff and uncomfortable I wanted to crawl out of my body and run away. But I didn’t. Life is hard. Things are hard. Running solves nothing.

But this house isn’t about me. It’s his victory. And I will let him have it. He’s a homeowner and he has a place that is HIS. To do what he wants with it.That’s awesome. I had my turn years ago with that. (And now it’s gone.)

He gave me the tour. And I didn’t get all giddy but inside I was like WOW I LOVE IT. Its a sweet home, it’s laid out perfectly. And I can see us in it. (BARF)

He kept asking me if I wanted certain things to stay in the house, like for me. And each time I did my classic blank-dunno-face. His step mom was laughing at me a little, she could see I was clearly having an internal battle to be excited to someday live there, but play it off cool like, whatever.

It’s odd for me. It’s HIS house. So if I move in one day. I’ll never feel like it is OUR house. I’m not talking legally. I don’t even care. Its the comfort factor. Like what if I’m at the store and I see curtains… It won’t be like my old house and I just buy them. This is J’s place. I would be nervous to step on his toes, or make him feel forced to entertain my taste.

And living with him. Let’s just talk about me. I’m chaotic and messy. The ex bitched at me for being messy. Passive aggressively made comments about me forgetting a fork in the sink. Or not mopping. My clothes strewn across the closet in the messiest fashion. (The clothes thing… that’s my REALLY bad habit.) What if J just melts down about these things. I will be right back to where I fought to get away from. I know people change and I know “Love” is supposed to conquer all. But one thing I am learning about J, he is set in his ways. But he will listen to me, he is not DEAD set but he certainly digs his feet in.

We had a disagreement about LIGHTING. In his house. That I do not live in. I was merely making a case for why over head lighting in a living room would be helpful. He ranted about how he hates it and he wont use it. While I was not trying to argue, I was just making a case. I don’t live there. Not my house. But it ended with him saying “We will go pick out a light for the living room together”. He even said he didn’t know why it mattered that much to him. OK. But still. Not my house. It’s not about me.

A few days later we had a “painting party” and J and I picked the color. I made him make the final choice because… (broken record) It’s his house.

Ironically we got it at my FAVORITE place. Homewrecker Depot. I find it funny to shop there for stuff for his house, which one day could be OUR house. Since Home Depot is the epicenter of the cause of my new life with J.

My mom, dad and I came over and his step mom and dad and her parents all came over. Some of us painted, some where there for support. His dad was funny, but also spooking me. He kept asking me how I like “MY” house. I laughed my manic laugh and smiled like a deranged mental patient. (at least that is how I picture it) Then his Step Mom’s Mom asked me when I was moving in. I laughed again. Because that’s what I do when I am freaking out. I told her we would take it slow. With the little guy, it’s too hard to have him go from place to place to place so I want him to have stability. She agreed. Plus I don’t think J is ready for a toddler. I love him. But I don’t think he has any idea what he is getting into.

After everyone left we sat at the table in the kitchen. And we looked around at all the work. He was happy. Stressed but happy.

I don’t have a flippin’ clue where I am going from here. When its good to move me in. Or when it’s right to involve the little guy. And my dog! He hates my dog. Riley is my sweet baby boy… my first baby. He may be a hyper jumping psycho but he licked my tears during the loneliest times. He curled up to me when I had to sleep in the attic. That dog got me through those nights I thought would never end. The thought of leaving him behind at my parents is upsetting.

That is why I freak out. Not because I don’t want it. I do. Badly. I just don’t know how and when and it overwhelms me to no end.

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