There’s a lot to be said for learning to live together. So far, so good, I will whole-heartedly admit. But there’s this cloud hanging over our heads called, “getting settled.” For some reason, I can’t make it go away. I’ve told you about this table. Well, after coats of Kilz and paint, I have both fallen asleep and woken up (and gone to work) with paint streaks on my legs and in my hair.
So, is this it? Have I already let myself go? Co-habitating with my best friend leads me with nary a worry of day-debris in the bedsheets?
Not to mention that the aforementioned effort to get settled kept us measuring, nailing, (re-nailing) and leveling until 10pm, when we made the (co) executive decision to order pizza rather than wait on the chicken to thaw for an intended stir fry.
And for some reason, despite the fact that we finished up dinner an hour after our usual bedtime, we delayed the hour of slumber yet further because the usual bedtime routine of iPhone games, TV shows and pillow talk ensued. (Part of me enjoys this slight, although impractical routine we’ve set). Approximate time of shut-eye? 1pm.
I have already poured two cups of coffee (and when I say pour, I mean dispense, because our jamming’ brewer doesn’t need a pot – simple joy, people. Simple joy.) and chugged a Slim Fast, but the rain, day-after late night pizza bloat and a full to-do list of busy work leave me feeling like something about this routine has got to give.
Attention marriage veterans! When’s the hump start it’s downhill? When do you stop having a slumber party and living real life? Should I be anxious for this, even? And despite that our apartment is only 800 square feet, when will it be completed to point of guiltless lethargy?