Positive thinking is this. My boyfriend moved in. I was worried about the risks, you know, the emotional risks. About him irritating me, touching all my shit, moving my crap around. I was worried about him messing with my independence, turning me into one of those girls, taking away an element of what made me a strong woman – my own apartment. I wanted him, but I wanted all those things too. I was worried.
Move in day. He shows up, we have coffee, make out. I tell him to take some time and get used the apartment, make himself comfy without me watching, unpack, whatever. I get a drink with a girlfriend.
I get back and he’s asleep. I’ve been out a long time and I’m drunk. I pass out on the couch, our first night in the apartment together. No blessing of the bed, carrying him over the threshold. I am pretty pleased with myself. Independence remains. I wake up the next day and he’s cooking eggs. He kisses me and hands me a glass of water. I remember that I love him, even though I’m a baddass. I go to the wardrobe to get my hoodie and I see, that without me watching, he has mixed his clothes in with mine in the wardrobe. He hasn’t take none side or the other, he has just put his shit, all jangled in together, with mine. What. The. Fuck? He’s cooking eggs, I’m not such a bitch I’m about to lose my shit but really?
I sit on the bed. I think about. I get up again and take a look. Is it a sign that he has no respect? Is it a sign that he’s got up in my face with his man shit and pissed all over the seat of my special, sacred zones? Or is it that he feels so close to me that a mixed up wardrobe is the most natural thing in the world to him? Positive thinking is a powerful force. The guy left his apartment and came into my place, to make his life in my zone. He made himself vulnerable. I had to respect him for that.