What happens to it? Do you give it up when you couple up?
It’s nearly 2:30 on a Wednesday morning and I am awake, wondering. Less than two weeks ago, I viewed an apartment with TLOML. Five days ago, we signed a lease on said apartment. Today, I’m pensive.
Let me start over.
I’m sitting here with toothpaste on my one, errant, where-did-this-come-from-I’m-34?! pimple, in a tank and ratty underpants, on a bed on a boxspring on the floor (fitted sheet half off, duvet in a should-have-changed-the-cover-last-weekend heap), reading tabloid interned articles and sipping $5 wine. I made it to the gym at 10 tonight, then got home and ate two Kind bars and sucked down a Bubba of Crystal Light lemonade. Seven pairs of shoes are strewn about my 350 SF space, and those are just the ones outside the federally designated shoe-hanging cubby/shit-in-a-box zone. I have relinquished my cat to another owner, but I still have a litter box, a cat tree, and a $3 chair with a cat-puke stain on. I have one plant, clinging to life, atop my refrigerator. I have a lot of meat and popsicles.
How do I square this with the fact that I will soon be living with a man I adore, in a really, really nice apartment, and most of my personal bullshit Will Have To Go?
I mean, I don’t prefer having $3 furniture in an apartment with the ugliest walls ever, and ending the night with animated gifs of James Purefoy winking in bed (shhhh don’t tell) to an uncluttered, lovely, joint space and curling up with my love, but I’m certainly used to it, you know? I am a decade of used to it.
What happens to the secret single behavior? Does it vanish in a puff of cohabitational bliss? Do you long for it even after you find your better half?