I knew before I met G that he was looking to move house. In fact, we had a conversation, which in retrospect, is quite funny, a few days before we actually met for the first time. We were discussing rental properties. He was looking to move soon, and I was thinking about what will happen when this house sells. One of the properties he was looking at said 'no pets'. I said I would not even consider a house that said no pets. He responded that he wasn't inviting me to live with him. It flustered me at the time, but given that he has now invited me to live with him, I am tickled. I don't think he remembers the conversation though.
Well, a couple of months ago, he viewed a house that he fell in love with. It's a little white cottage, part of a small terrace, set back from the road. It faces fields, and is in a beautiful little village. The kind of village that aims to win 'best kept village' and has an alarming number of WI meetings. He was already invited to join the fox hunt meetings.
He took a week off from when he moved house, and invited me to spend the week with him. The intention was to help him set up the house, unpack etc. I was very nervous. At most we'd only spent about 36 hours together; spending nine days together was daunting.
I can't really remember the beginning of the week. To get to his house it's literally turn out of my village, follow the same road for an hour, and turn into his road. Fantastic. Don't even need SatNav. I think I was having a good day, coz I enjoyed driving there.
My first proper memory is the Monday. It was the only day G actually had to work that week. When he'd moved in he'd sort of just dumped the furniture, boxes, and bags everywhere. He'd shuffled the furniture around a few times over the weekend, but was undecided on what he wanted to do. We discussed on the Sunday evening a final decision regarding furniture. So come Monday, while he was at work, I set about sorting the bags and boxes into the relevant rooms, and then sorting out the living room furniture. I am absolutely gobsmacked in retrospect, at how much I did, especially given how bar I'm feeling today. I expected to crash badly the next day, but I didn't. We managed to do bits of shopping in the week, and play board games, and watch DVDs. It was only as it got towards the end of the week that I started to come down somewhat. I spent all day Saturday in bed, and wasn't exactly very well on Sunday, but managed to drive myself home. As soon as I walked back into this house I just crashed completely.
I have to say, we really didn't get much done. Apart from what I did on the Monday, I don't think we actually did anything practical in the house. I have been back again the weekend just gone, and made him a list of tasks to do this week, so we at least have progress.
I don't really understand what is happening to me. When I'm with G I feel a lot better. I hope I'm not being an energy vampire; I keep asking him if I'm tiring him out, but he says not. His new house feels so full of light, and is almost energizing. Here, I feel ... ill, sick, weak, tired, and depressed. I loved being with him last week. Oh yes ... we finally admitted to being in love.