let's just blame it on hormones

For the first time we each have toothbrushes in each others' bathrooms. We've never really lived together, apart, like this. Last year there was an almost comforting distance that provided scope and time and regularity. This year there are hurried weekends and inane phone calls and dashed off emails. I feel like we see each other more but the time itself has been cheapened by the careless nature. I'm sure that somehow this is unfair to him or me or us. But I think about our weekends - full of work or ultimate with very little actual time to focus on each other in shared company. Not in the kitchen, the bathroom, on the couch, little things like racing each other up the stairs or hiding around corners or holding hands on the way to the car. Mundane things that I could screen out by enough space for denial at Penn that now are contrasted so sharply with weeks of extra space and weekends of too short comfort. I wonder if my much larger room this year helps or hinders. The unconfining space seems large enough for more than just me, the microwave and bathroom means I never have to leave once I unlock the door and step through (which, being fire-safe, closes right after me). It is a strange kind of melancholy, which makes me distrust myself all the more. Four weeks in. One hundred posts. Still the same themes. For how long can I keep this up?