It’s hard to believe that this coming weekend will mark one year living with Andrew. And since I’m still up for living with him still, I count that as a good thing. It doesn’t seem like enough time has passed that we’re already at a year.
I don’t know about you, but I am impressed. Not about the fact that we’re still living together [although, that’s always a good thing], but the fact that there hasn’t been too many crazy moments while we adjusted to each other’s living habits.
Not to many changes though, we were practically living together when I was living on my own last year. I won’t lie though, we both have extreme schedules that don’t always allow for us to keep on top of some cleaning *cough dishes*, and sometimes the laundry gets a little out of control. And that annoys Andrew way quicker than it annoys myself.
We’ve both fallen into a comfortable state – that’s not to say that I don’t lose my shit every once in awhile. Usually over the same things – he makes some comment about my ability to clean the house and I explode saying that if you don’t like it, do it yourself. Pretty fair, I think. If you don’t like the way I don’t do something, let me know so I can try to change, and then just do it yourself.
It’s very heartening to know that even after a year, I am very content with our living situation. Fingers crossed that Andrew is too, but so far I’ve heard no major complaints. It’s always a little disconcerting because if we did break up, what would I do? We currently live in a building that his parents own… would make it rather difficult. I don’t like thinking about it.
