Shacking Up

For some, it works wonders. For others, it's a deal breaker. For me, never again.
We moved expecting that life would only get better. Yeah, we expected and anticipated hard times, but long as we had each other, life was headed for All-Graveyland.

At least that's what we thought.

Before I knew it, good times and laughter were soon out the window and nonstop hard times were waltzing through the door. From infidelity and lost of trust to reduced work hours and not so amicable break-ups, I tell you, this wasn't what I signed up for. But then again, when shacking up, this is exactly what I signed up for.

Three and a half years, three break-ups, hundreds of sleepless nights, screaming fits with wall shattering glasses later, I've finally come to make the decision not to ever, ever, ever, shack up again. Til' death do me part, if no ring, vows, and marriage certificate, Theresa'll be living alone.

And this is no laughing matter. This is the real deal.

A co-worker and I had this very same conversation while at work at the end of our shift as the boys were on their way to sleep. Granted it's totally understood that not all men and women are like me and him, and in some situations, it works. But in others, it can be a total diaster (hence my case). And because of this, I'd never suggest or push for a dating couple to move in and live together. There's too much messyness that comes along it. Yes, it would be grand to learn a partner's habits before marrying. And yes, it's nice to have someone to fall asleep and wake up next to at night and in the morning. And it's even sweeter to have someone to spend off-days cozied next to while watching reruns of your favorite shows and movies. Yes, these things are fabolous. And there's nothing like it...

But...

Of course there's the flip side to it too. There's also the emotional inability to realize that something's wrong in your relationship because you're spazing about the dishes piling up in the sink, his sticky socks clinging to your lace Victoria Secret hiphuggers, and lets not forget about the overflowing clothes hampers that need to be washed while the over-stuffer roaster's cooking. It's easier to spot shit from a distance than if it's already in your personal space. It's easier to forget about yourself when you're sharing corridors with your partner. And once we forget about ourselves, and become blind to the foolishness that may be happening, a relationship's approval rating plummets and home becomes hell, catching ablaze.

So while I my spend days and nights piecing a new life together, I reflect on such a decision that I'll go to lengths if need be to share my story with others in hope that they can prevent themselves from experiencing what I battled through and finally escaped. Often, after we've successfully taken 10 steps forward, we have to take double those steps back to check ourselves, our lives, and our circles. And one thing I've realized during my ongoing reality check, shacking up, is the one thing I promise myself that I'll never do again.

The love I can handle, the messyness I can't.