Sassy's Up Late Again

I really need a place of my own. Don't get me wrong--Rusty has been amazingly gracious and attentive--it's not living with him that is the problem. In fact, I'd say that living with him has been much better than I could have imagined. No, the problem isn't with Rusty. The problem is, as it turns out, I am quite a "nested" kind of person. My things now reside in 4 different places. A few stray odds and ends still at the old apartment, a ton of crap hastily stored in Shitfoot's apartment (mostly kids' stuff), most of my furniture and carefully boxed items in a storage shed, and the absolute necessities plus a few amenities that would FIT here at Rusty's. We're stacked in this little apartment like a family of refugees--and that's bad enough, but since it was his home first, I feel like every little thing I do is invading his space. I am so unsettled and scattered, it is keeping me in a perpetually bad mood.

Luckily, the kids have taken the change in stride. DD is adjusting quickly to her new school, making friends and getting along like it's old hat, as far as I can tell anyway. DS seems to like his daycare more than he liked the previous one (week 2, and still no complaints about going, even when crabby first thing in the morning). This is comforting, but I NEED MY OWN PLACE! I need my stuff all in one place, I need to make a HOME that looks and feels familiar... and then I wonder, when Rusty moves in with ME, will he feel the same way? I hope not; I hope that he feels welcomed--integrated, even, into my family. It's all very awkward and weird, trying to get used to adding someone new to the family dynamic. But we're handling it well, I think, especially considering all the stress of being flat broke and the stunted move and the long hours at work, etc. See, when I think about it from this perspective, I realize how nervous I was about how things would go living with Rusty, and I realize that things are better than I expected, and man do I love that man. He is such the polar opposite of Shitfoot in so many ways, that I often times forget that those qualities are not intrinsically MALE. It's not MEN who behave like selfish, adolescent assholes, no, that was just Shitfoot. Rusty just rolls with the punches, taking the hits when the trivial details of daily life start stressing me out, stroking my hair and reminding me where my priorities really lie, that the kids are happy and well taken care of, that things aren't as bad as they seem... Pinch me, is this what support feels like?