Blogcoven

The Wanderer and I put down a security deposit for a flat yesterday morning. Walking down Westland row on the way back, I noticed a slight ache in the back of my neck. By the time we passed O’Neill’s in Pearse Street, I had it figured out. It was whiplash.

I am surprised but delighted at the pace that the Wanderer and I have sorted many things out. I have a game, permission to reside, a place to live where I’m not stepping around my in-laws (they are lovely people, but we are grownups and we need our own place), a bank account, a social life, and a local yarn shop within walking distance. Two weeks ago, I was selling my car and wondering who I would never see again and who I would end up keeping in touch with. I am slack-jawed in disbelief that things have been so good so quickly. It’s the speed of the change that creates this sense of whiplash, accompanied by a sense of creeping doom when I realize it can’t all be this good all the time. I expect that once we move in to our new place and the reality of having bills to pay but no income sets in, things will “get real” soon enough.

Dublin and I have been dating for a very long time. The first blushes were heady with all the excitement of young love, and the lengthy separation had all the drama of a long-term, long-distance relationship. Finally, Dublin and I are moving in together. It’s good and exciting, and I think Dublin is as excited as I am that we can be around each other all the time. We’re certainly in a sort of honeymoon period, and I realize that immediately afterwards is the time when we discover each other’s embarrassing habits , dirty laundry, and so on. But it’s been good so far. Surprisingly so.