My relationship with J isn’t “long distance,” it’s more like a “weekend-driving-distance.” We rarely see each other on weekdays/nights because the drive is just a little too long for the time we’d be able to see each other before one of us had to drive back home or drive to work the next morning.
But J had a few-day on-site visit with some clients near my home, and so he spent a couple of days and nights here. Of course, we both had to work during the day, but it was wonderful waking up next to him and seeing him waiting for me when I got home from work.
Playing house was fun. In addition to playing, we talked, watched a horrible documentary, made dinner together, and went through some tiny fraction of the motions that living with someone demands.
With all of that said, playing house for a few days was confirmation that we’re a a good place in our relationship (dare I call it that?). Sure, I’d like to see him more, but I wouldn’t want to live together. I’ve been there, done that, and it’s not something I want right now. Because I don’t get to see him as much as I’d like, I really appreciate the time we have together. It’s made me better about not wasting time on stupid stuff (like the time it takes to talk about having a relationship rather than actually having one). It’s made me more willing to let the small things go, to temper my anger, and yes, to hold my tongue. Is that un-Domme-like? Whatever. I’ve been the biggest sabotage of my own happiness in recent years, and I think I’m learning to fix whatever it is in me that causes me to either push men away or run.
Besides all that, J appears to be incapable of properly loading a dishwasher, and I’ll never live with a man who puts the water glasses on the bottom rack.