We locked up Prof's house for the last time yesterday and brought the rest of his stuff to my house. Our house.
Its done. He's here, and he's not leaving anytime soon.
It seemed so un-ceremonial. We were so busy packing and hauling and packing and goodwilling and storing and unpacking and throwing away and organizing and cleaning that we were too tired to go out on a romantic dinner to commemorate our relationship moving forward.
Instead, on Sunday night when it was all over, I sat at the kitchen table immersed in my research paper, and Prof took over the office working on his research for an upcoming presentation. We ate dinner at 9pm. Me, at the table, with a plate full of fake chicken nuggets. Him, in the living room, with a plate full of veggie buffalo wings (yes, they exist and they are quite good) watching Dexter. On the giant tv. On my giant tv. Well, mine now.
It sucks that we are both so incredibly busy right now. It made the move much more stressful than it needed to be. "Should I unpack this box so I have underwear, or should I do my research?" "Should I take a load of stuff to storage, or should I write a section of my paper?" "Should we keep packing, or get some thanksgiving dinner?"
In a week, it will calm down and we can find a rhythm that works for us. Until then, the boxes that are still unpacked are going to sit, and I'm going to work on my paper.