Thursday, April 27, 2006

Movin' on in

A lot has happened since I last blogged. I’ve been to Europe and Southeast Asia for work, I nearly burned down my fence grilling shrimp kabobs on my charcoal grill and…let me think, I know there is something else…oh yeah, the Girlfriend moved in with me.

I know, I know; “Koog, this is huge! How could you nearly forget to mention that?” Fans calm down…I was just kidding and it is huge, especially for a commitment-phobe like me.

So, you may be asking, “Koog, how did this happen?” Well, let me tell you.

We have had a long running debate about our living status for quite some time. I think I posted earlier that we were cohabitating between two different domiciles. It worked well for a while, as the one place was close to both of our work locations and the other place was more of a larger, country home. But, in the end, it was taxing and expensive to keep up 2 mortgages and try to balance time at both places. Not to mention that if we’re going to do the whole double-ring-swap thing in the future, we should have a place that is “ours” and not this Koog and Hers thing we had going.

I’m not sure how we agreed on it or if we even discussed it, but all of a sudden the movers were at her place taking things out and at my place bringing those same things in.

Whoa…that was fast. I started to freak out as I noticed my things being moved, sorted for Goodwill or tossed. OHMYGOD, my precious collection of baseball hats with precision sweat rings are not on the floor of my (our) closet. HEY, where are my 2 cases of toilet paper? That was the good stuff from Costco and no, you can never have enough. OH-NO-SHE-DIDN’T toss away my “Sure Thing” shirt. That was a good shirt, man.

What was I doing and more importantly, why was I doing it? Am I sure she’s the one? Will I lose all my free will and become a drone that follows the Girlfriend around like a puppy and agrees with everything she says? What if she turns out to be psycho and burns my underwear in a pile on the bathroom floor? What if she’s a spy? What if she’s a crazy Irish murderess that kills her mates with poison potato soup? I was getting nauseous from all of the motion.

Then, just as my “What ifs” were getting out of control, she came up behind me and hugged me. In that instant, the world slowed down and the nausea stopped. She was not some potato-crazed killer, she was my Girl, this amazing woman that deserves someone so much better than me.

I turned around to look at her and I could see she was having the same fears about me. I didn’t know whether to be happy that she’d understand my nerves or scared because she was as anxious as I was about this.

After talking a little about the boxes that littered our once neat home, I noticed my anxiety feigning and could see the same in her.

As I write this, we’ve lived together for a week. She’s on a business trip until tomorrow night and I find myself dreading the night alone.

I guess the home I called mine and only mine for so long is now really “Ours.”