MaryB and the City

room + mates.

Someone once said that two halves make a whole. And when two halves move in together, it makes a whole lotta stuff. After thirty days, we miraculously managed to not kill each other.

Those lines are from one of my all-time favorite Sex & the City series episodes: “The Good Fight.”

Ironically, it’s airing on the Style network tonight. And how would I know that SATC is on? Because I retreated to the bedroom, also known as a sanctuary away from football {typically my max out is at 1.5 NFL games}. I’m convinced that is why living quarters almost always come in multiple levels…to have some peace and privacy.

In a nutshell, this is what has transpired in chronological order -

• Week 1: It felt like I was just visiting the manfriend, per usual. That at any given moment, I’d repack my duffle bag, give him a bear hug while saying good-bye with an extended kiss, then head back home down 95 south.
• Week 2-6: Life settled in.

I suppose, so far, the experience is on par with most domestic partners who are recently shacked up together. Somedays are smooth sailing, somedays are rocky, and somedays are perfectly, pleasantly normal.

Today I was quietly reflecting on the last 44 days of living with my Mr. Big, in between having what can only be considered a complete meltdown because my stuff won’t fit in our limited storage space. My makeshift closet on the 3rd floor, which he was thoughtful enough to invent using shower rods, can’t hold the weight of my clothes. Walking upstairs for the third time to witness my wardrobe all over the floor got the best of me. I cried*, went for a walk, and Christmas gift shopped away my frustrations. He saw the whole thing go down, and probably thought I was losing my mind.

*This is acceptable behavior under the code of Secret Single Behavior with no judgment from others. Not the case when cohabitating.

Whenever two people move in and become roommates, surely there are multiple variables that come into play which determines the proverbial household thermastat. But for our situation, a few more circumstances were thrown into the mix, most notably is the fact we’ve been existing in a long-distance relationship for the last year.

We lived in a facade — short weekend trips, soaking up every single minute with each other; mental, physical and emotional connections at an all time high. Those conditions are in no way true mirrors of real life.

So as we navigate what it’s like to live in the same {small} space, much less the same city, trying not to step on top of each other, annoy each other, and consciously treat each other with respect, despite having a hard day at the office or just flat-out being in a foul mood…we’re also getting used to simply seeing each other as often as we do. The good news is, in 10 years, he has never genuinely annoyed me.

On paper, it’d be easy to take the +1 for granted. Which is why I made a promise to myself that I flat-out won’t allow it. I will not slip into an unconscious routine, not appreciating coveted face-to-face time. My hope is that he will do the same.

In “The Good Fight” show, I love the banter between Carrie & her counterpart as they bicker about compromising closet space and complaining that there are too many half-used sticks of deodorant in the medicine cabinet. However, Big and I don’t fight. That’s one of the single greatest aspects of our dynamic — no screaming, no namecalling, no dirty mud slinging.

I suspect that with our new reality confined within four walls, there is now more room for error, and more room for bad days to occur.

But even the hardest day together will never be as bad as not seeing him at all.