A Room of One's Own
Let's talk about modern marriage for a change of pace.
I am in the process of moving out of my shared bedroom with CK. It's time to reclaim some space in my life and I am starting with my own bedroom. Who thought it would be a good idea to have grown ass adults share a bedroom? All my love to the extroverts out there, but when they were out civilizing everything they didn't think about their cousin--the introverts. Everything is an extrovert dream in our society, including marriage. You ever think about that? They figured out how to build a culture around never having to be alone. I call an extrovert intervention immediately! They simply must be stopped.
(That's the extent of which I will go to call out the extroverts. That's the design flaw in introverts.)
When school let out this year I looked around hoping to find a place where I could retreat to during the day to refuel. My shared room with CK is a very lovely room with a beautiful views of the mountains and a door that leads only steps away from our Bullfrog Spas Hot Tub (TM)! But it's also the only access point to the outside from our upstairs living (slight design flaw!) and that means it's also like living in a hallway.
But then the other day I was coming out of the shower and had to move across the landing towards my bedroom (there is no master bath) (ok, another design flaw) like a wet ninja with bosoms, because there are always like 200 children my house and only four are entered this world from my body. So I was stealthily moving into my bedroom and when I arrived I dropped my towel so I could get dressed and found a passel of boys in my backyard looking into my room. I screamed out of horror. I was able to gather myself, and slowly walked backward into my closet to retrieve my robe, but in walking backward I exposed myself to the south window where a kid was climbing the roof of the house next door. He also had a lofty view of my summer body (which is the same as all the other seasons). I screamed again.
Then I told CK I was moving out. Into the guest room. It's in the basement. It has wood paneling and two small ground windows and a huge closet, a bathroom (not a great one)(yes, a design flaw, but it was 1953 and they were doing their best) and it's so out of the way that people forget it's even here. It's like an invisible room with a huge bed that needs a new mattress top. I am saving up.
It also has a lock with a key!
But none of this has to do with my relationship with CK. In fact, when I told him I was moving downstairs he told me it made his heart race, and I told him I had a lump in my throat. Gosh dang we are the most romantically enmeshed couple you will ever meet. But the reason why he can't come with me downstairs is also about me needing my own unshared, unmititaged, unrelenting space. I've always needed it, but I sacrificed for financial and family reasons. Now that all of my babies sleep through the night it's time for me to take back some of the territory I gave up all those years ago.
Now please don't worry about CK, he has the entire subbasement--almost like an entire wing of the house--for himself. It's full of crap that all of us know not to touch. In fact, it's like he's the genie from Aladdin (sexy like Will Smith, but clever like Robin Williams!) who lives inside the Cave of Wonders. Sometimes if we wish hard enough he appears with 3D printed toys, and stuff we broke that he magically glued together again. One time I wished for a new light fixture and within an hour there was a pristine-printed, retro-designed, milk-glass-colored angular lamp sitting in my front room. And last year we took down a huge leather couch for him to sleep on if he wants. He's very good. Almost too good, sometimes he literally disappears and we find him down there avoiding us.
And of course he can visit me in my wood paneled sanctuary which I will now call The Cave of Leave Me Alone, Please.
I added the please because I am still getting used to reclaiming space unapologetically. If only my polygamist foremothers could see me now! Breaking the chains of sharing--one generation at a time!