When the Professor moved in with me, it was a huge move on his part. He was eager to move in (actually, I would have preferred had it not been so rushed, but sometimes the timing demands its own pace), but he was used to having space to himself. I only have a small, two bedroom apartment, but I gave him the spare bedroom for his own personal space. I saw the reason, and the reasonablity of his request. He works on his novel until well into the wee hours, and he needed “his space” to do it in. But I’d had plans of converting the spare bedroom into my library/study, something I’ve always wanted for myself. It hurt to let go of that plan.
I decided that I need a space for myself though, an area I can call my own and decorate to suit myself. Not an easy thing to do in a shoebox of an apartment. I announced yesterday I was taking full possession of the balcony.
It isn’t big, and there isn’t much of a view. There’s enough room to perhaps set up a nice little bistro type table and a couple of chairs. And plants – I miss my garden and I want lots of plants. I saw a cute little wrought iron screen with places for about fifteen votive candles that would give the balcony a simple but sophisticated look. I can turn this into a place to read, or do some writing, or just snoop on neighbors.
None of this is to the Professor’s tastes, but I find I’m already falling into the same traps in this relationship I fell into during my marriage. I bend over backwards to accomodate his needs, making myself a silent (and eventually resentful) martyr. If I want this relationship to work, then I’ve got to learn to let myself have some things too. I’ll start here.