3... 2... 1...

I knew moving to Cookeville would be an adjustment. I was going from MY house- my nice, clean, personal area- to my BOYFRIEND'S house- which is not mine, bottom line. I have closet room here, which is awesome, and I don't feel like an outsider or anything... but it's not my home. I'm a very bubbly kind of girl. By bubbly I mean I have my bubble and I like my bubble- comfort bubble, if you will. Boyfrand once found out what happens when my comfort bubble is compromised- I stormed out of a live performance of Rocky Horror Picture Show, with his keys, and proceeded to have someone come and get me from the venue. Did. Not. Want. Why? Because I built shit up in my head and was bound and determined to have a meltdown. So I did. That movie is stupid anyway.

With that said, I have been anticipating a meltdown at any moment for the last month. A catastrophic, chain-smoking, hot mess of tears meltdown. I am by nature a bit overdramatic and mega-climactic. (Don't be nasty, now...) Honestly. I am a gay man in a woman's body, so let that just be exactly what it is. However, through the entire packing, storing, stuffing, cleaning, moving, unpacking x 2 ordeal... I have been perfectly fine. No tears. No phone calls to my mother asking her to come get me (so I'm 28- fuck off, I love my mama), no packing Murray up and driving half an hour down 40E only to realize I was being a queen. Nothing. 

Until Thursday night. 

Everyone wanted to go play pool (again, for the 3rd time this week... yawn) and I opted out, which was fine by me. I had no problem with spending some time away from Boyfrand. No biggie. So I came home to clean a little and crawled into bed to watch The Office. Then starts Murray being a total asscat and wanting in/out/in/out and I can't ignore/sleep through it. Then the stupid (literally, I think she has trouble with doorknobs) roommate across the hall deciding 1:30am is a good time to vacuum (really? YOU HAD RINGWORM. WE KNOW YOU'RE DIRTY. YOU ARE NOT FOOLING ANYONE WITH THAT SHIT.) and I just couldn't take it anymore. Boyfrand got home around 2:00am, I had started crying and texting my best bitches around 1:45am, which was enough time for me to be in full on meltdown mode by the time he arrived home, unsober might I add. Now, having a meltdown is sucktastic and all but it sucks even more when you realize you aren't going to get the reassurance and comforting words you need. And I personally do need those things. It is really not like I plan that shit- it just happens. As my father so perfectly stated, I just don't play well with others. And sometimes not playing well with others starts to take its toll and I have to break for a moment and re-center myself, and it is always helpful when someone is there to help you pull the pieces back together. Well, Boyfrand was as much as he could be, love him. A sniffing, snorting, sobbing, seemingly pissed off girlfriend is not what you want to come home to ever, let alone when you've been drinking most of the night. I apologized for that as well, because it wasn't right of me to just unload on him at that time... but it just couldn't be helped. When it has to come out, it has to come out. Oops. 

We drove to Knoxville yesterday to spend some time with my parents and for birthday dinner with my gay husband. We talked about everything that had transpired the night before on the way and that was one of the many times he has indirectly made me realize: 1. I am a drama queen, and 2. How lucky I really am to have Boyfrand in my life. He gets it. He knows. I am sometimes pants-on-head retarded and will turn on a dime and go batshit crazy at times. He loves me anyway. He understands. He breaks it down and makes it simple so *I* can even process it better and always states that it is going to be okay- because we have each other. Yesterday he turned everything around that I was bitching and complaining and angry about to show that hey, we got to spend the day together and that was something he was happy for. Damn him for being so goddamn perfect. 

I mean really... how could I NOT want his babies?

So at the end of the day, I don't always love where I am now living or the people I am forced to be around. However I always melt a little (okay, a fucking lot) when I see his bearded face and take in his genuine smile saturated with adoration he always has when he looks at me. I know that I am straight-up, for real, no joke happy with this man, and there is no one else I could or should be with as I wouldn't feel this loved and complete. I am thankful that I not only realize these things, but that he also reciprocates these things too. And because I have all of that, nothing else matters- not one little bit. 

Unless that stupid bitch talks to me about cat food or poop again. Then I swear to god I will kill every motherfucker in the goddamn room.