Moving on...Moving in

I spent last night in the apartment. Tonight it's back at the house. And I guess that's why I was such a raving lunatic in yesterday's post about the poor fat kid and his parents.

I felt so out of sorts watching that show and I couldn't quite put my finger on it. But tonight, I get it.

I didn't want to be in that apartment. I wanted to be at the house. With Rose. Just like I had already moved out of the house in my head a few months ago, I've already mentally and emotionally moved out of the apartment.

I knew a couple weeks ago that I wanted to start to bring this separation to an end. And I knew that the end was a reconciliation. Once I set my mind on that, the ball hasn't stopped rolling.

We've agreed that I'll keep the apartment until the end of September, the end of my lease. But it's hard going back there. I don't want that separation anymore. I don't want nights to myself.

I've had enough time and space and freedom to think all I want about the transitions of my life in the last year. I pretty much know where I'm going with this whole weightloss thing. I know how to get there. I've got tools. I've got resources. I've got support. Now I just need my partner back, day in and day out.

The other night Rose suggested I start to bring some things back to the house if I want. It was like when we first started dating and she cleared a drawer in her dresser for me. Sweet, tentative, loaded with implications. Last night I packed up some things. Tonight they're tucked away in the house, back where they were in March.

The things are back, or will be soon. And I'll be physically living here again, full-time, in a matter of weeks. I just wonder if it will go back to the way it was between us. I want that comfortableness and familiarity, minus the complacency. I want it just like before, only very different. Just like me.