I've been generally antsy and nervous about Scott's upcoming move.

I've been on my own for almost three years now, living in my lovely two-bedroom apartment with just me and Glin. In that time, I've become a bit anal in a fashion I never have. Everything has its place, I do a major cleaning every six months and I never start my day without making my bed. Dishes are always washed, blankets folded and smoothed on the couch, remotes ... you get the idea.

I'm about to have my comfortable little life upended, and while I'm so happy that my little family will all finally be under one roof, I have been as anxious as a nun in a whorehouse. While Scott isn't bringing much with him in the way of big ticket items, I'm going to, for instance, have to give up an entire closet. Bookcases, a desk, a dresser, CDs galore ... all of these things will need a home by month's end, not to mention the various pictures and oddities that come with being a thirtysomething man who has ... stuff. I'm not discounting their value, not whatsoever, just that this is a small place, and we need to make room so that this place feels as much as his home as it does mine, and I already have oddities.

This is all making me itch. I think it's why my hair is falling out.

I reiterated this fear to Scott again over the weekend, trying to reassure him that my anxiety wasn't my way of backing out, just that I needed to do a better job of communicating my fears. He replied that this feels like the most natural step, that being a bachelor is totally overrated, that he misses Glin and that not being with me is never an option for him so we're just going to have to work it out together.

"I think I'm off," I said upon conclusion. "Something is really wrong with me."

"Oh, I could have told you that," he said, half-jokingly. He's suspected my thyroid is flaring up big time, but he also knows I just get anxious and stressed easily. Scott is forever reminding me that he's known what he was getting into from the moment we started dating.

"Besides," he said. "I think I've become pretty adept at handling your crises and freak-outs."

Today I get a text message from him, asking if he can take me to dinner. I assumed it was to thank me for driving to the comics store and picking up his monthly subscriptions. It's not a big deal for me, but there was a lot of Spiderman, Batman and Buffy in that pile.

"I know we're not going to be moved in in two weeks, are we?" I asked this tonight on the way to Chinaski's. He sighed, and said maybe not. I stressed that I was just doing this - all this nagging, natch - because I was trying to avoid my inevitable freak out. "Okay," he said.

When we got to the bar, in five minutes I had this basket of all-you-could-eat bacon and a Bell's Oberon in front of me. By the time we left, I informed Scott that I'd be just fine if we ended up just moving all of his stuff over in one day.

Bacon. It's a wonder drug.

Posted by Erin at 08:50 PM | filed under: Wedding, marriage, love, etc.

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