In 20 days, i'll have company. It'll be the third time in some ten-ish years that i'll have had a man in my home who wasn't related to us, or a friend of both of ours. It'll be the second time that said man will be in our house for more than dinner and a movie, the second time it'll be someone i've never met before, and the first time there'll be anyone not from my womb present for christmas. Hell, it'll be the first Christmas and new year in ten years that i've spent a christmas with anyone that didn't involve gestation of me in them or them in me.
Freaky.
I have 20 days to get this house clean. I have 20 days to make room for someone else to be in it - figuratively and literally. I have 20 days to figure out who i am as a top - if i am one at all. I have 20 days to boot out a ghost that might not be ready to leave.
And I have 20 days to get myself ok with giving - and receiving - love in physical, tangible, in-your-face ways. In ways that won't make me spaz out, run for cover, or paint myself unloveable as camoflauge.
Ok, yeah. Freaked.
There is, as always, the pervasive fear that history will repeat itself (what in the hell is it with December?) and it'll be epically disastrous. There's the even more profound fear that it won't be, 'cause then what? And of course, overriding all that is the knowledge that I'll analyze the fuck out of this, and be ready for institutionalizing in 19 days.
I'd consider it, to avoid cleaning the damned house. Fuck. Freaked.
So, ye who know me best. Advice?
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