Status Normalized.

E is back from Whistler and back in control of the remote, which seriously impedes my being able to view anything that doesn’t have a) explosions b) aliens  or c) David Caruso.

The funny thing is, I don’t mind. How did that happen?

In almost every other relationship, I had the upper hand. I made the decisions. I decided what we were watching and where we were going. In every case, it was me who dumped them (except one, but then we got back together and I dumped him back.)

Somehow I managed to strike a partnership deal with E, which was not my pattern at all. We negotiate. We talk about stuff. We delegate chores to one another. So when he goes out of town to work, the house feels extra empty, like I’m a hermit crab who got a sweet deal on a really big shell and now I rattle around in it.  All the Jane Austen adaptations I want on the TV and I find myself on the Space Channel. Carte Blanche to cook fish and I make spaghetti. The chance to hog the covers and it feels too hot and stuffy.

Somehow I became one of those moony women. Oh, I think I hide it pretty well. I live my life, I go to work, I see my friends. But at the end of the day, there’s too much space on the couch.

I’m glad he’s home. I can get back to my regular schedule of poking him with my foot and doing bad David Caruso impressions.

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