Home Alone

After a long hiatus at J~'s, I've returned to the scene of the crime (my apartment, with all it's wilting plants and moldy dishes in the sink) to catch up with course planning, to clean and breathe and sleep that glorious middle-of-the-bed sleep one can only achieve at home, alone.

Besides all that, I'm bracing myself for a final meeting with A~ (today at 1 pm). He'll be picking up his socket wrenches, random socks and other sundries, copying a few cassettes, and making sure there's nothing else we forgot was his. He'll also write me a check to cover my dental surgery, since the only reason I didn't have it done while we were together was pregnancy. (Knock wood again for those miscarriages.)

Speaking of pregnant, no I'm not, though my period is due any minute. I've told J~ that we'll be using condoms this month, as my move-in date is on the ropes. I love him as much as ever, but I'm starting to stand a little stronger on my own two feet, and I'm not ready yet to give up my independence, my apartment, my occasional glorious middle-of-the-bed sleep. And frankly, as long as it feels like such a relief to come "home" to my apartment, I'm not giving it up. I'll continue to cart things to his place, to make improvements and carve out space for myself there. The move-in together plan is by no means derailed. We're on track. It's a good track. But why rush it?

My ambiguous biological clock is whispering urgently into my ear, "Me! I'm the reason!"

I hear you, clock. I have by no means forgotten you. But you're not everything.