movin
I'm here, but it's not the place I know and love. It's completely different. I was dreaming of this day, the day I left the lonely monotony of life in the middle of nowhere north-east Scotland to come to my little love nest in my favourite city. But after walking away from my horrid - yet stable - job, and driving four hours south, never to return again, I was whisked away to a new place in a new part of town, and felt like a million miles away. I ended up huddled in the corner of bed, with back pains and unidentified cramps and headaches and a knawing fear in my belly. So much for the champagne Richard had on hand for the occasion. Why wasn't I cheery? I blamed exhaustion from the move. And to be fair, it was a pretty shit day. I woke up before 7, and spent hours loading all my earthly possessions into my car, then scrubbing the flat clean - cleaner than it has ever been. Even the oven sparkled! Then I had to wait around for the asshole estate agent from hell, who was late, of course. Not only did it take me five weeks and at least 10 phone calls - which were never returned - to arrange my leaving appointment, but he refused to give my deposit back until I can prove that all my bills have been paid! I told him I HAVE to get the money immediately because I'm moving back to the States and have to get all my affairs in order before doing so - a white lie - but he just turned that around on me to say 'And if you bugger off to America and stick us with outstanding bills... it's happened before.' Argh! Bastard! I offered to ring up the utilities companies and pay them on the phone in his presence, but then he said he needed the council tax and phone bills too. Fucking bastard. Of course he didn't give me any advance warning about any of these demands, so I could have arranged something previously. Oh no. That would have involved consideration and communication, both of which he incapable of. He also inspected every damn thing with a fine toothed comb, and had the gall to note a bit of mold in the shower, one tiny chocolate stain on the (SHITE HORRID UNCOMFORTABLE HIDEOUS) couch, AND a bit of leftover soap in the washing machine, which he made me clean then and there. That flat was cleaner than when I moved in, and yet he... argh! I took photos in case he tries to stiff me of the money in the end. I have little faith.
So when I finally got out of there, I left frustrated and dejected and close to tears. Not only that, but I had to make an unexpected detour to try to get a copy of my council tax bill. At least it made me so angry that I wasn't the least bit wistful about leaving the place.
And when I arrived, after a long, annoying journey, we had to unload the bloody car. Up four flights of stairs. (Although to be fair, Richard did most of the work. Bless him.)
That would explain my grumpiness, then. To a degree. Why hasn't the feeling passed then?
I'm sure I'm being overdramatic. I'm sure it'll all be fine. I'll meet up with friends in one of our old haunts, and it will all come back to me. But for the time being, it's a bit scary. The flat is a bit isolated, and on the fourth floor, and a mess just now. I crave tidiness and organisation almost as much as familiarity. More so. They're probably related actually.
Last night Richard left me alone to go to work and I spent most of the time cleaning. In fact, barely had we dropped our bags on the floor than I was on my hands and knees scrubbing out the fridge. It was cathartic, if not mad.
Bless Richard. He really is the most patientm understanding guy. I sometimes catch myself doing the most annoying things. Everything has to be perfect, my way. Down to the placement of furniture and candles and...well, everything. It's fanatical, especially considering it's Richard's flat. I recognise this. But I think Richard also recognises my distraught state and would rather have the couch a bit askew if it means me relaxing enough to make cohabitation possible.
It's been very strange. The tow of us lived together all last summer, why should this be so different? I've heard of some of the trauma that arises when couples move in together and have to meld their stuff, but I didn't truly get it until now. I still don't really understand why it should be this way, but it is. It hasn't erupted in any great rows or anything, but I've found myself bickering about the silliest things. For instance, whether to keep the large kitchen utensils in a jar next to the stove, or in a drawer. I'm a big advocate of the jar, as it allows easy access to things like spatulas when you most need them. He is against it, not least because I was using a measuring cup in lieu of a jar, and we might need the measuring cup and then we'd have to empty all its contents and what a hassle, etc etc. So yesterday I trawled a few charity shops and found the perfect, fashionable, stainless steel holder thingie and excitedly spent 50p and carted the treasure home, only to find out it wasn't just the measuring cup he objected to, it was the whole idea of the items on display next to the stove. I won in the end, by using the argument: 'Whoever does all the cooking should dictate the cooking utensil arrangement.'
The next bone of contention: the kitchen sink. I am pushing for the immediate acquisition of a drying rack. He could care less, more intent on securing a washing bin to put the dishes in. I say, what's the sink for then? He says, what's a dish towel for then? You can see how fun this is going to be!
Needless to say, I've been winning most arguments about such things. But I haven't forgotten that all good relationships involve compromise. I'm not very happy about where Richard has chosen to display his CDs and tapes and books, but do you hear me complaining? Surprisingly, no. Likewise, the bathroom has become a free-for-all. Did I mention the fact that all my clothing is going on a rack in the kitchen? I'm going to have to get dressed in the kitchen. Hmmm. And the shower. Shit. Absolute shit. Bah. The sacrifices I make for love.
There is much to be done, and very little money with which to do it. Should make for days worth of edge-of-your-seat reading. I'm sure.
I'm already going stir crazy as well, and that's with hours worth of cleaning and sorting to be done! And you know how much I love cleaning and sorting! I've made an important step out of the rut today, by setting up a lunch date with Alison. Get me out of the house and interacting with others. Very good.
Next: finding the motivation to do some work. Eeps!
