There's a dude in my house

For the past three years, he's been following me around. Sleeps with me every night. Makes me food sometimes. Doesn't like when I leave a mess.

For the past seven years, he's been calling me, wanting to talk to me, asking me questions. For a little while, we didn't live so close, and so it was harder to communicate. We've exchanged gifts, secrets, insults, and sometimes clothes.

But now, he's in Spain. And I'm in Spain. And we share everything.


Pop quiz! Is the emphasis on everything good or bad?

Ha just kidding, of course it's mostly good.

Moving here was a bit of a gamble on both our parts. Not because we were going to a place where we had few friends and no job, but rather because we were going to a place where we really only had each other. And one of us lost the other, I think we would both come running back to the US with our tails between our legs. But after 2.5 months, I haven't seen any clear signs of self-destruction.

We've always had a weird power struggle. Constantly competing, often arguing, and occasionally wrestling. So like it would anywhere else, that continues here. You might call us stubborn. That doesn't sound like it should work, does it? Two stubborn people spending 90% of their time together. Dishes should go unwashed, clothes unlaundered, bed unmade, legs unshaved. Yet all these things get done (except for the last one but we agree on that).

I can hear you saying, "Ok, ok, but there's gotta be times when you go for a while without talkin' to each other."

Yeah, there are times like that. You'd be amazed at how childishly brief they are though. Like I said, we're dogs with our tails between our legs.

While we're both very good at voicing our likes and dislikes (about money, about food, about each other), I think we're also rather good at preserving each others' feelings at the same time.

For example, Elliot has an irrational fear of heights. I can't enjoy great lookout spots anywhere: cliff sides, balconies, tall stairwells, bridge underpasses. I can't even fuckin' hang the laundry out the window without being told "Both feet on the ground!"

Ain't such a long way down now is it?

So rather than call him names or tease him (because I mean come on, I'm not going to flip over a rib-high railing) or criticize him for never doing laundry (just like a man), I hurry up and hang the clothes when he's not around. Result: no fuss. Plus I get the chance to do my acrobatic routine on the clothesline.

In the end, I don't have any relationship advice. I can't tell you how this works, or why. All I can really do is assure everyone who knows us that we're doing just fine. We care about each other, and we can make each other laugh.

That's our lovesun, shining right into our eyes, because it's so bright n'all.