Mortgage Vs. Marriage

Hi. I'm back. I'm stressed and I'm screaming pretty frequently these days.
I also fell down first thing this morning.

We are moving in less than a week. Our entire apartment consists of piles of boxes and piles of our crap waiting to go into boxes. The apartment has become an obstacle course. Chulo is so freaked out that he is constantly about three inches from my right ankle so when I was going into the kitchen this morning to feed him, I walked out of the bedroom, and while trying to dodge him, I ran into Erica's portfolio, which tripped me up. I fell into the washer and landed directly on my ass.

Good morning to me.

The resulting crash and Erica's mad dash to save my life did nothing to calm Chulo's nerves and it set the scene for the rest of our morning of tripping over our stuff and each other and the ever present Chulo -- the whole scene had the three of us barking all morning.

We close on our new apartment tomorrow, we move on Saturday and we, dear people, are frazzled. Luckily E and I argue well and we both know that all of the bickering is just stress so we're not getting mad ... just very, very agitated.

Here's where I thank Dr. Auerbach and the makers of Klonopin. Without them, the new owners of our old place would walk into a murder scene consisting of two bloody lesbians with serious knife wounds and a frantically pacing Bichon Frise.

Fear not dear fans -- we're going to make it through this. Neither of us has cried yet. (But we've still got several days to go.)

You know, Erica and I have been together for four and a half years, we are engaged and have an official, $36 piece of paper that says we are domestic partners. We used to joke that it was our expensive, purchased as a couple, furniture that was keeping us together.

Well, that's nothing compared to a 30 year mortgage. The government may not allow us to get married, but I can't imagine being any more committed than jointly owing hundreds of thousands of dollars to a bank.