Maybe I Won’t Die Alone After All

In a few short months, Michael and I will be moving in together. Two months and twenty seven days to be exact. To say I’m that terrified would be understatement.

free-moving-boxesI haven’t lived with anyone for over twelve years, and I wouldn’t exactly say I’m easy to live with. I’m particular, I like my space and my things, and I need a great deal of alone time. These attributes have softened a bit since Michael and I started dating a little over a year ago, but I’m still a little frightened for his safety.

It’s not that I ever saw myself living alone forever. I just sorta blinked and a decade had gone by. Revealing all the ways I’m not a complete grown-up has always been scary for me. Like, what’s gonna happen when he finds out that I sometimes go full days without ever once putting on pants? Or that I sometimes watch the series finale of Six Feet Under just to cry. While I don’t necessarily think that any of my “single behavior” is a deal-breaker, I could probably go the rest of my life without Michael finding out first-hand what I can do to a bathroom after eating dinner at Flat Top.

Soon enough we’ll start looking for an apartment to co-habitate and then we’ll go about the delicate business of deciding which of our own prized possessions meets the others’ standard of living. Will I be able to make peace with the fact that he owns more IKEA than either he or I would care to admit? Will he be able to handle the hodgepodge hand-me-down furniture that I love? And most importantly, can either of us handle each other’s hands on our stuff?

And how do we know that this is even the right move? Have I lived alone for so long because I’m incapable of sharing the same space as another human being? Of course I’ve read all the pre-move in blog entries. Huffington Post says there are five things we should ask before moving in together. Those questions are all well and good, but what about questions like, “What should I be doing when you’re being a huge brat?” and, “What is an acceptable amount of alone time?” “Am I allowed to tell your cat to STFU after she’s whined for an hour?” These are the important questions and am I a total dick for asking them?

I do believe that Michael and I are approaching this merger as adults and that there really won’t be a ton of snags along the way. I love him. He loves me. We handle problems pretty quickly and easily. We already have a drawer and a toothbrush and keys to each others’ places. We spend most of our time together. I think that what I really need to do is get out of my own way and be happy about taking this step with such an amazing guy.

He’d be lucky to have me anyway. I come with a rather impressive dowry of tireless wit, out-of-print comic books, and a semi-decent DVD collection. And one asshole cat.