After months of blissful cohabitation, I can't take it anymore: my boyfriend and I need space. (Whatever there is that doesn't love a wall, it ain't me.) We've never really fought before, after being together for more than a year. But we came damned close last night, after he rejected my UWS, high-ceilinged and fireplaced dream. Was the bedroom small? Sure: but all the better to cuddle you, goddammit my dear!
It's irrational, I admit. The lease isn't up yet on our current closet, and yes, the bedroom was very small. And really, I could be less of a bitch. But I'm afraid that one of us (me) will kill the other (him) if we don't get a little breathing room. And if they throw in a window that doesn't expose me to anyone who happens to walk by, that would be groovy too.
I mean, I love my boyfriend. Don't get me wrong. I love that we can be home together in the evenings and on weekends. He's the light of my life, fire of my loins and bringer of delicious snacks. But if I have to listen to him snore while I type at the desk for another 6 months, I will lose my mind.
I also have this houseboy fantasy, where I have someone trained to do chores and handiwork: in the current digs, there's just no space for someone to scrub the floor or put up shelving while we're both there.
And what's a home without a dude in a latex bodysuit washing your dishes?
