suddenly, i give a f@#$ about socks.

it's weird but i think co-habitating with the significant other ( p.s. let's talk about this phrase and how bizzaro it is. is everyone you're not sleeping with an insignificant other? why do you say other? because you're the only one that matters except for one other- that significant one? deserves further investigation) tangets aside, it's weird but i think co-habitating with the significant other has got me acting in strange ways. i am constantly having battles with myself over whether the things i feel are legit, or if some weird monster larvae my mother installed in me years ago has crawled out and taken over. since when do i care if there are socks on the floor, even if there is a whole nest of them? my bachelorette kitchen was a disaster- so why do all the dishes have to be clean now? because they are not my dishes. my shit is still piled haphazardly around the house,but that's okay because i know it has a greater purpose to be fulfilled in the coming days and or weeks. also it's mine. there is the real truth. it is hard for me to be in shared territory. am i hearkening back to my only child days, or is living in another place just manifesting the usual craziness in new ways? or maybe the same ways, except now i have  someone to witness  my neurotic inability to feel at home if there isn't at least one blue wall? i don't know. i just wish i could spend a day in my apartment without feeling guilty about the mounds of laundry i'm trying to cajole myself into tackling. is this a common thing? or a curse placed on us as we get older? a side effect that gears up with our biological clock? how terrifying. i am working on methods of therapy. my next day off i'm going to read magazines- those little postcard subscription cards be damned, they can just stay on the floor. and i'm going to eat graham crackers in bed.