06.06.00, take two.

Just kill me now. The computers have turned against me.

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06.06.00

It is SUCH a good thing that my slug never reads these.

Yes, I refer to the love of my life as a slug. For a few reasons.. one, I'm not exactly comfy calling him my "fiance" at the moment (see past rants for justification), "boyfriend" is trivial. He's not a "boi." (It's a net.goth term for a lovely androgynous skirt-wearing goth male.) "SO" is silly. So he's my slug.

It doesn't mean I love him less.

Two, there's that wonderful poem, 'The Connoisseuse of Slugs,' by Sharon Olds. Hunt it down and read it. Slug is NOT a bad thing.

The landlord is coming over. The house, is, of course, messy. (Even by my standards, it could use a quick pick-up.) He sends me an e-mail telling me this, and that he's pissed because he found some of his shirts in my sewing room (he'd been looking for them, but hadn't asked me about it for some reason. He KNOWS I borrow his clothes all the time. Those shirts were in there because they needed repairs anyhow.. they just got buried.) And he found some popsicle sticks in the couch, accompanied by a few happy ants.

So, of course, this stresses him out. He's not convinced he can live with me because "our lifestyles are not completely compatable." Yes, I'm messy. I've been trying not to be. And he's been very patient in realizing that I have a tendency to pile things of a reasonable similar nature together and leave them there, and not griping too much about it.

But dammit, I'm trying very very hard to not leave little snips of fabric and thread everywhere, to pick up projects from the middle of the floor, and to otherwise keep everything where it needs to be. Of COURSE we're not completely compatable.. we're different people, and we're both used to living pretty much alone.

But he's no prize to live with either. I don't get stressy about the physical environment around me as much (though too neat is as bad for me as too messy is for him), but the emotional and psychic (yeah, yeah.. I sound like a flake) one bugs me. He gets angry/depressed/grumpy, and he goes *silent*. You can't talk to him. You can't even be in the same room. When he's like this, I just ignore him, but it HURTS. If we talked this shit out, maybe it wouldn't be as painful.. maybe not. It would certainly make me feel more secure.. at least I'd KNOW.

(When he gets like that, he won't say what's wrong, so I'm left to stew over whether or not it's something I did, I said, whatever. This has the effect of being the biggest source of stress in my life, and unnerving as hell. The kicker is, if it's something I did, I'll probably do it again, since I have no idea that that's what did it. All hail the self-perpetuating circle.)