On sharing a house, again
So, that’s it. No more filling the dishwasher three times a day. No more cringing when the noisy housemate slams the doors at four in the morning. No more madness of house meals that could feed an army.
I’m moving from my house-share of eight, but I now need to learn to share my home with you. I can guarantee it’ll still be frustrating and wonderful in varying measure, but that I can take, if it means sharing my life with you.
I warn you now, mind, that you have a hard act to follow in making me laugh.
As I scroll down the right side of this blog I see the months building up. The months that turned into years of us being apart. It looks like such a long time when, one line after another, it’s listed, bleakly. It feels like we’ve been waiting a long time and suddenly, slowly, now, it is becoming a reality.
Our home.
No longer with the Irish Sea, Offa’s Dyke or Hadrian’s Wall between us.
Our home.
But it does pose a conundrum for this place. It was written for you. I quote from almost three years ago:
… we miss out on some of the news and trivia of daily life. I can’t take your hand and show you something I’ve just seen. Something funny, or happy, or sad. I miss that.
So, this is my attempt at bridging that gap. If I were feeling soppy, I’d claim they were love-letters in a web-enabled world, but you wouldn’t catch me being soppy now, would you?
I don’t know if I will keep writing here. I don’t know if I’ll start somewhere else. I don’t know if anyone else is even reading anymore.
Does leaving my madcap house of Sunbury mean leaving Flossie behind too?
I’m still undecided.
It has been fun, but better things are to come, I feel.