Why You'd Want To Live Here

It's Friday night, and I'm alone at home. The windows are open, as is a beer, and I'm knitting a scarf that never seems to get any longer and watching "Ugly Betty."

The scarf is my first lace. I started it a few months ago, and until recently, I've been neglecting it. It's blue mohair on size two needles. There was definitely an error in needle judgment made - the needles are about the same color as the yarn. It's coming along though.



In just under three weeks, Matthew will be moving to Memphis and into my apartment. I'm excited. I've got to be honest, though - I'm freaking out a little bit. This has been my home for almost a year, and things are as I like them. I've been almost comically resistant to moving my green couch (it's where I read the paper - right under a lamp, near the turntable, but not too close, and by a window). The major point of contention in our relationship is a shelf that we desperately need to tame the our sizable record and book collections, but won't really fit in my apartment unobtrusively.

Thankfully, we'll be looking for a bigger place once he finds a job.

Though he's my best friend, living with a boy is going to be a big adjustment. When he was here over spring break, I came home one day to find that Matthew, in a valiant effort to bring some order into my life, had looped all of my plastic bags together and placed them in a paper bag. The paper bag was supposed to serve as a dispenser for the plastic ones, which would unfurl one at a time with a gentile tug. This system somehow works at Matthew's house, under his sink.

Now, every time I go to get one plastic bag, I wind holding a long string of them.

But it makes me happy. It reminds me that though I'm not going to live alone anymore, I'm gaining Matthew, who always tries to make things easier.

I'm still freaking out a little. Any advice for a pair of first-time cohabitors?