That's how many nights I have left to have my house all to myself. Well, me and the cats. Ten nights of hogging the bed. Ten mornings to hit snooze without feeling guilty. Ten nights of cooking for one. Ten nights of not worrying what time I get home.
In ten days, Prof moves in.
I feel ready, and completely unprepared at the same time. The house is halfway ready - I've cleared out some of my shit to make way for his, but I'm sure I need to do more. We got a storage unit and this weekend we put some of my furniture and bins of crap in. Antiques, grandma china, riding ribbons and my Halloween costumes are all safely locked in our $100/month closet. Goodwill got my electric lawnmower, which I had a lot of trouble parting with, and my guest bed (no more house guests!) and old patio furniture. I'm going to have some serious freakin' Goodwill deductions on my taxes this year.
So, we've made headway on stuff. But moving the stuff is not my problem. My head is the problem. I'm having trouble grasping that he's coming, and never leaving.
Or maybe, I'm not having trouble grasping it - I'm having trouble being excited about it.
I'm looking forward to parts of it, but I'm too experienced to be bubbly and excited about living together. So's he. There's going to be lots of great stuff, but we both know from experience that there are going to be hard times and conflicts. That's what happens when you move into the next phase of your relationship. Its just pretty weird that we are both working so hard to make something happen that neither of us is that excited about.
Or maybe, I just don't get excited about stuff anymore. I mean, I used to get giddy with excitement about eating at Taco Bell and Olive Garden. And going on that big plastic slide at the carnival where you have to wrap yourself in a smelly burlap bag. And getting a postcard. And Jello Pudding Pops. And reading a postcard while eating a Jello Pudding Pop.
Living with Prof is definitely going to be better than postcards and pudding pops. Maybe I should be more excited.