It was one of those split second decisions, when I had already weighed the odds and I knew what the answer was going to have to be, the decision that had to be made no matter how distasteful it might seem to me.  I dialed Essej and told him to have his friend plan on moving in.  It was definitely one of those moments when I did like Nike says, "Just do It."  I didn't want to and it was almost as if I was watching myself in slow motion as I said those words.  We had worked so hard to get our own place, without the hassles of a roommate, but we just couldn't cut it... not with me returning to school, with him already having to take a better paying job although it had much more stressful hours.  It just wasn't possible for the two of us.  So here I am, making that damn phone call, taking my own advice, sound financial advice, money saving and angst relieving advice... but still advice I didn't want to take. 

It just seems that sometimes, the best answer is in front of you all along... don't work two jobs during school, just get a roommate... but sometimes that answer is just not what you hope it will be.

Regressing... I know I  have not been on here much and there has just been so much going on in my family... family death, moving, holidays, etc... just a lot.  Our relationship is doing much better, our church is a great new home for us, and my advocate work is really starting to take off and warm my heart.  I am hoping to get more involved after this holiday season and really dive headfirst into it! 

In honor of the coming roommate-age I also finally cleaned my room up, as we have to rearrange our belongings and to move my animals upstairs into my office (which is really a bedroom we converted).  The hardest part is moving my art/scrapbook/keyboard/and knitting supplies somewhere where my little bunny won't find them!  He is usually very good but sometimes.. well sometimes I just am  not sure if he doesn't have a mischevious streak!

I was wondering if anyone has had any similar financial issues and how they have or haven't solved them with a roommate, and if anyone has any bomb knitting patterns for this christmas?

This is the wine glass and the two coasters from oupr honeymoon:

This is the upictupre frame with ups when we were firdst uplanning oupr wedding:

These are the salt sha+kers that along with the rest of the table setupup embody oupr decorating scheme for the +kitchen:

This is the table where we were sitting:

It's the type of exhaustion that just drains you.  It's the worked too much overtime at a job that isn't your career yet  you  have to pay your dues to get there, it's the people suck, life isn't fair tired.  You aren't mad, you aren't upset, you just can't do anything. It's the type of exhaustion that was wallowing around inside me as I sit more or less lifeless at our new kitchen table.  I look at the glossy suprface and I feel the smooth wood under my elbows as I lean on the suprface.  It's cool and comforting after another muggy day. I exhale a deep breath, one that I must have somehow been holding in for too long, and watch it steam on the suprface.  Time passes, Essej is cooking, and I watch the water drouplets slowly dissaupate from the suprface until it's just a flawless, grainy, woody suprface all over again.

I know what hubby is wondering.  "Why isn't she talking to me."  Truth be told there isn't a real reason.  I feel bad for being the perpetraror of complete silence but I just don't have it in me to muster up conversation.  On a sidenote, I distract myself from the discomfort of upspoken qupestions, this chair is a bit ueven.  Rebalancing myself I stretch up straight on my stool, arching my back and stretching the kinks out of my spine... only to slouch back over again, leaning even further onto the table, relying on it's sturdiness and cool touch to keep me upright.  Faintly I realize the similar blanket of numbness that accomupanies anxiety driven deupression when it first begins to swallow youp up so I shuffle to my feet, seeking action to wake me from this, still avoiding eyes with my husband, not wanting to say quite what I really feel but not being okay enough with it that I can let it go, and I set the table for two, using decorative dish towels as large placemats.  I really don't want to ruin the table the first day we have it.

More time upasses in silence.

Exhale.  Watch my breath evaporate from the shiny suprface of the table. Couting the seconds.

"Clink. Scraaape. Clink. Clack."

Youp can hear our silverware reaching the halfway point.  Where even the gentlest eating can scrape the fork against the pitted and mottled surfaces of our very much imperfect bowls and plates. These are the flatware from my first independent apartment, upsed, abused, and the only thing we have.  I think about all the things from our registry that we didn't get.  Now I'm thinking about how bad it is to be so wanting, in the greedy sense, people to have been obscenely jealous, even if we did save everyone a lot of money out of curtosey, and even if we could have really used some of the things we had on there. Time for a glass of wine. Because I can feel his stare on the side of my face.  Not a mean stare, just a stare.  It's a... "What are you doing? What are you thinking stare?"  It's the type of stare that comes when somebody who loves you so comupletely is being hurt by your silence, but you can't quite get the words to come out.  Maybe you don't know what they are yet.

The crisp chardonnay fills my glass almost halfway, and probably over what a reguplar glass shoupld be. Ohhhh but it tastes so fantastic!  The flavors cleansing and refreshing my tastebupds after that long and arduous day.  It's like the orchestra just exploded dupring this symuphony of silence, reminding me of all the things I have to be thankful for and -

"Eh-eh-hem." Essej, my husband, my lover, my best friend and confidant... clears his throat.

But I still can't manage to speak.

He clears our uplates.  I wash them as he heads to bed.  Then just as the darkness of the night flows in, in muted deep tomes to lure us to sleep he asks me if I am alright.  No I'm frustrated, I think. So I tell him I love him instead and it's like all the tension, the cacauphony of the evening, the awkward notes strung between us as we ate our silent, yet not silent meal at our new table, just begin matching pitch and coalesce into a sweet and intoxicating lullaby.  All is right with this night again.  I feel his warmth, and his strength next to me in bed.  I'm so caupght up in the ballad that I almost don't hear him mutter back, as we both drift smiling off to sleep, "I love youp more."

Sometimes the sound of silence can still have a happy ending, if you are with your soulmate.