After many months of commuting 1 1/2 hours each way to-and-from my beloved J.'s home, I was exhausted. Granted, we lived only 32 miles apart. And J. could drive the distance in much less time. But I was usually the one doing the schlep. J. had no roommate. J. worked more days of the week. And riding public transportation means that you can actually use your commute time for more enjoyable things than watching out for other drivers with death wishes. So, in theory, I wasn't really losing work time... I was just doing my reading for class or prepping for students on trains and busses.
However, by the time six months had rolled around, I was already wiped out. Sure, I could theoretically work at J.'s apartment. I brought my laptop. I'd bring grading or reading or research materials. And I sometimes managed to accomplish things. Yet, I somehow had this constant lack of focus, a sense of being without a place. If I was at J.'s, I missed my friends, my books, my food, my stuff. If I was at home, I was missing J. I had a hard time bonding with people in J.'s general vicinity because I wasn't there to hang out on weeknights and J.'s bachelor pad wasn't really guest-friendly. But I always felt that I was missing out on weekend social time with my own neighborhood friends.
Plus, I hated having to bring stuff everywhere... I got a huge backpack so that I could bring 5 days' worth of clothes and books with me. If I was working on a research paper, I'd end up schlepping 30 pounds of books on the train.
It pretty much sucked, and it was apparently getting to J., too. I remember exactly when J. first asked me to live with him. OK--I can't remember when it was (I think it was spring). But I remember where we were and what we were doing. J. and I were in the parking lot of his apartment complex, on our way to the car. The conversation continued as we headed off to meet a friend of ours for dinner at a Japanese restaurant. And I said, "I really want to, but no."
What motivated this possibly unexpected negative reply? I'm not entirely sure, although there were certainly a number of factors. My grandfather (now sadly departed) once told me that he'd disown me if I lived with a man without marrying him. I'd already watched a number of friends go through the living-together-then-breaking-up deal. Other friends had to wait for five years to get married to their live-in sweetheart (which I now felt too old to do). Whatever combination of factors there were, they somehow outweighed my growing aversion to commuting. I told J. that I wanted to live with him, but wanted to wait until we decided if we wanted to get married. And that was that.
Several months later, I happily received J.'s proposal. Immediately thereafter, J. wanted to know when we could move in together. It took us a few more months (from early August until December 1st) and quite a bit of apartment searching, but we are now shacking up. Which was hard to explain to my grandmother and my Orthodox sister. It has certainly made a lot of things easier... I get to stock my preferred groceries in the house now.
But it takes getting used to. It took us at least a week to realize that we could be in different rooms at the same time (our townhouse is much larger than the old two-room apartment). J. threw his quiet version of a mini-fit the first time we went to the grocery store, and I put the kibosh on the non-kosher meat. I snapped at him one day when he came home hungry without warning me and then kept interrupting my cooking with unpacking questions. (Of course, I hadn't told him to call and let me know if he wanted food as soon as he came home...) J. is slightly mystified my winter blues and neuroses, and I read too much into his moods. I can't save my meltdowns for the privacy of my own bedroom and hide them from him. And we are, as expected, discovering each other's idiosyncratic habits. (Isn't it a good thing if I run around the house turning off the lights in unoccupied rooms?)
Then, there is the whole category of mutually reinforced bad habits. J. eats lots of sweet snack foods--which I have a hard time resisting. This led to J. throwing a bag-and-a-half of left over Halloween candy into the trash when I confessed that I was having a hard time resisting the siren song of the Kit Kats, even though I was able to resist both his box of Entemanns chocolate-covered doughnuts and all but two of his really yummy ginger and lemon sandwich cookies. When we were both working from home on Friday, J. noticed that my tendency to stay in my pajamas all day is not really helpful to my attempts to be productive and alert, even if he weathers it fine. We both stay up way too late. And when we try to go to bed at the same time, and I like to have two hours more sleep a night than J. does, that means that I get up way too late.
And, finally, there's the usual getting-used-to-the-new-home bit. We can hear the noise from both the train and the close-by airport until late at night. We spent the better part of our first month fighting with the heating unit and trying to keep warm on nights where the temperature outside was in the 30s and inside was no higher than 55 (our thermostat hit its bottom reading). I can't see my school friends all the time, but I get to see J.'s friends (now my friends, too).
I only now have a desk in our shared office, so that I can work upstairs, away from the temptations of TV, Tivo, and Playstation--none of which I've had for years. We're still partially in boxes, but we chip away at them, a little bit each week.
During one of our chilly afternoons, when we were enjoying the fireplace, I realized that I was very content. Part of me has fantasized all my life about having a man at home as my partner and friend. And I have that, even if it is not an unqualified delight. J. is pretty wonderful. Even if he can't keep on top of the dishes, dislikes vegetables and melty cheese (separately or in combination), doesn't understand the mechanics of Ikea furniture, leaves beard trimmings all over the bathroom sink, and watches a lot of sports.
