If we don’t get a space of our own, or some privacy for God’s sake, SOON… We’re going to explode.
Husband and I are, uhm, in between spaces right now. We’re in that awkward phase between moves, where our rent was up, and we haven’t decided where we’re moving to next, so to keep from living in our cars, or signing and breaking a lease, we ended up at our parent’s…. yea….
It’s very tense and touchy. See, we can’t exactly get a place because I might be going back to NYU in the fall, well, that is unless the Peace Corps works out, then we’d do that instead. Basically, we’re camping out between our parent’s places. Husband is working in Athens, where his dad lives, and my mom lives in Lithonia, about an hour away. So, when we get annoyed with one parent, we move on the next parent’s place. It’s frustrating, and getting old. We can’t keep up with our belongings, we don’t get any privacy, and we’re completely out of our element.
My husband is grown. Like, 32 years old grown. Military veteran grown. Oh, and I’m pretty grown too! I mean, I’ve lived, I’ve traveled, and I’ve got a degree. I’m 24, but hell, I’m married and THAT means I needz my space. At my mom’s house there’s two dogs (excluding mine), and a sister I don’t like. My mom is so OCD about everything that it makes it difficult to be in communal spaces with her. Plus she’s so loud. She makes the most ungodly ruckus every chance she gets, AND she works from home!!! So, that means, we get special access to her kitchenette band practice early Saturday & Sunday mornings. I didn’t know she was in a band, or how many people are in it, but judging by the noise and the variety of instruments, I’d say there’s at least 6 people in it and there favorite instruments are the pots, pans, pantry doors, and the got-damn refrigerator. They aren’t very good. Not only that, every conference call is frustrating. We can’t use the kitchen when she’s working in there. We can’t walk up and down her stupid creaky steps. Apollo can’t make a sound. Come on lady. Take your ass to your office. In the basement. Jesus.
Husband is a giant. 6’4. 290. He walks hard. Hell, he moves strong. Nothing in his path is safe. Apparently, he’s supposed to be as light as a feather. Everyday, “Jennifer, your husband is so loud. I was on a conference call and I could hear him on call.” Oh sorry, I left the clouds in the car, I’ll be sure to bring them in so he can walk on them next time.
“Jennifer, he eats so much. I don’t know if I can keep up with him.” Yes mom, he’s a big man. I’m pretty sure a normal meal for you, is a snack for him. No one can get by on that “carrot and a cup of coffee” excuse you call a meal. We need FOOD. Real food.
We went to a movie this weekend, and six minutes into it my phone rings, “Jennifer, uhm, I forgot my key. Are you far away?” Apparently, and I didn’t know this but, the movie theater will pause your movie for you or completely refund your money with good reason, like “Mom’s got issues.” And she does.
No where is safe, his dad’s house is not a space I am familiar with, so I don’t feel comfortable there for long periods of time, just like I’m sure Husband hates being at my mom’s for too long. His dad’s got a girlfriend and works late, which means he’s not there much or for veylong, which is great for us. Unfortunately, I don’t know my way around Athens, so when he’s at work all day long, Apollo and I are stuck in the house with nothing to do. So we sit and wait, and when that time comes, we’re sitting at the door like little puppies waiting on Husband to walk through the door. It’s pretty pitiful.
His mom lives in North Carolina. She remarried and her living quarters are… exhausting. My dad also remarried and lives in Jasper, GA. Those two parents are the farthest away from us and we don’t get to visit much because of Husband’s schedule.
We’re just ready for our own space again. I am ready for a decision to be made so we can have our privacy back. No noise is a noise we didn’t make. We can walk as hard as we want, eat whatever we want, Apollo can play around and not be attacked and thrown around by my mother’s unruly, untrained dogs, and we can finally put the duffle bags away. I am sick of living out of bags.
The minute we make a decision of where to go to next, I am bolting out of here, Husband & Pooch in hand, and not looking back, and I don’t want to SEE another family member until I say so!
This in-between phase SUCKS.