We are moving in two weeks time. I'm savouring my peaceful Sunday serenity and wishing I could bottle it to take out of the cardboard box on moving day. It is going to be hell. There is no way around it. Two houses moving to one. M & I have lived in this apartment for nearly three years. Two years and 9 months if you are wanting specifics. It has been my haven and my salvation. If that sounds dramatic or cliched I apologise, but it's true. I left an unhealthy and unhappy relationship 2 years and 9 months ago and needed to find somewhere where I could be me again. To forge a new relationship with myself and my son. To be independent, and strong, lovely and lovable - again. I feel that I have achieved this. This apartment and I will always be friends. I will drive by and think fond thoughts and laugh at some of the memories, and cringe at some of the others. In growth there are always minor disasters and embarrassing situations. And I am definitely not adverse to them, as my friends will attest.
But it is without regret that I am leaving. Like a good relationship, it has been a mutual decision. Shortly after S & I discussed moving in together, and finding a new place with new energy and space, my apartment started to give me signs. Things started to fall apart. The taps in the bathroom, the cupboards, the dishwasher - all need repairing. M has outgrown his room. My apartment has gently been nudging me to leave its cocoon like status and go out there again. Take a risk. Live with someone you love. Scary? Yes. Comforting? Also. Exciting? Definitely.
But back to the moving. I'm looking forward to the weight loss and muscle tone! Last time I lost 4 kgs and gained definition to my calves that I didn't think possible. I suppose I was mentally stressed and emotionally then though - that is always a weight loss supplement you would find hard to sell. The physical aspect will be there again though. This apartment is on the top level of a brick 70s walk up and there is no lift. S's house has precarious stairs that I'm terrified of killing myself in my high heels every day in - let alone carrying cargo. The new house will be relatively easy at the other end - I hope. Although deciding what goes where will be another issue.
S and I are both Aquarians. In other words, we are both.... opinionated and stubborn. In the most part, we have similar tastes and definitely similar values. Taste in movies are generally fine, TV, humour, food, wine, holidays.... all good. Music we struggle but have some ground.... Some....
But the time bomb is our art. I have this one particular piece that I adore. It is I suppose akin to the way I feel about this apartment. It makes me feel happy, secure and very excited about the future. It is an anchor for me - a reminder of what has come and gone and what's important for the future. S hates it. I can't work out why - but he does. He says it's too pastel. Which is fine - he is entitled to his opinion. Except if it prevents me from bringing it with me. S also has a painting which is a bone of contention. I don't love it - but I will accept it as S bought it at the time of our meeting and it too represents a lot of things. Trouble is that it is fairly abstract to the point of obscurity. It is difficult to know the gender of the couple in an intimate embrace. Luckily S & I believe they are male and female as we are in a heterosexual relationship. Unfortunately we cannot agree on which one is male and which one is female. S keeps trying to convince me of his point of view but he can't and won't. I am quite happy in my viewpoint and feel just as strongly about it as he does. But everyone else we have brought in to try to adjudicate seems to be of the consensus that it is gay porn art - gender debateable.
So we are in the situation where my expensive, beautiful painting that I bought from a female Russian painter's exhibition is in jeopardy. And the loving, sexy, intimate piece bought by S is widely considered to be... well not really representing us? I refuse to fight. Lucky for me I have bargaining power on my side. Gay porn in the bedroom surely equals pastel balloons in the living room.
