I have a confession.  From being conspicuously single when Femmeiniste launched, I have rapidly progressed to being in a full-blown relationship. You’ve heard about The Man With The Hidden Talents before.  We have been “temporarily” cohabiting since July.  I can now say definitively that he is also The Man With The Hidden Weirdnesses, but as I am the owner of a stuffed Malaysian tapir, I am not in a position to throw stones.

I’ve actually been shocked at how easy and natural it was, and I can’t quite decide if it was easier or should have been harder because we had no actual intention of the living together lasting this long.  I’ve never lived with a guy before, and this is supposed to be a BIG DEAL.  So far?  There’s nothing easier.  It actually makes me a little suspicious. Isn’t this supposed to be hard?  I’m sure it’ll be more challenging if the temporary cohabitation becomes permanent, but for now it’s all hearts and flowers and caramel macchiatos in bed.  (Benefits of a guy who has to settle for street parking.)  I always imagined that moving in with a guy would mean putting up with a lot of annoying personal habits, but possibly I was just assuming that because The Ex had annoying personal habits.  I guess we’ll see.

The fact that a theoretical two weeks has extended into three months has finally brought home to me, however, the need to make room for the boy’s stuff.  Living out of a suitcase was okay for the first few weeks, but it began to seem a little inhospitable by the time we hit September.  I have cleared him two drawers and some closet space, but he owns stuff.  The same kind of stuff I own.  The stuff that is currently all over the place.

Unfortunately, I’m realizing that I’m going to have to do a whole lot of work just to weed my own stuff down enough to be able to put it all away properly.  There are still-packed boxes from six years ago, well, in pretty much every available corner.  Finding room for more than just his clothes is currently inconceivable.  It’s a little overwhelming.  I look around, and all I can think is “My God, I own a lot of crap!”

But hey, I’m a big believer in one thing at a time, if only to keep myself from going into hysterics over the number of boxes I have.  For now, this is a temporary move-in.  So, for now, I’m going to concentrate on getting my own possessions under control enough to put out of sight, and work on making room for his at a later date.

Luckily, there is nothing to save you from sentiment like a career change and the sudden arrival of a guy in your apartment.  Once someone else is in the apartment all the time, noticing how you live, you achieve sudden clarity on the fact that there was no good reason for you to keep a foam-rubber cow wearing boxing gloves for the last three years.  There are a lot of boxes I need to go through, and a lot of total crap I need to throw away.  Still, a certain amount of random stuff storage is still going to be necessary, because really, the wind-up walrus has to stay.  (There’s no point in getting rid of everything, after all.  We’re supposed to enjoy life, right?  I am enjoying the hell out of owning a wind-up walrus toy.)

So, I’ll be chronicling my crusade against stuff here on Femmeiniste.  I suspect I’m not alone in having accumulated a lot of junk over the years that I never bother to look at or think about, so I hope you’ll join me to declutter, provide suggestions, or just gloat over how less junk you own than I do.  Wish me luck!  More to come soon.

Tags: clutter, cohabitation, organization, romance

This entry was posted on Monday, October 26th, 2009 at 9:18 am and is filed under Boystory, Et alia. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.