I’m not actually sure of the exact day, but M. and I both recognize we met for the first time on or about Tax Day in 2003. That’s three years by my watch. ‘Cuz my watch has years not hours.

Now, we’ve lived together about a year and a month. So far, so good. Although, this morning brought complaints of domesticity. Apparently, a year ago he had a long-haired, rock and roll existence that didn’t require dishwashing.

On my end, my complaint is that he might in fact be as insanely neurotic as me, if not worse. Yesterday, he called me late in the work day to in a soft voice tell me, “My boss asked me to stay late, he wants to talk with me. I think he is going to let me go.” I pointed out that mostly people aren’t asked to stay late to get shitcanned, but I could tell he wasn’t looking for an argument. I’m not a total asshole, so I just listened.

He called me on his drive home. Because someone else in the office left, the boss wants to give him more responsibility.

Heretofore, I thought I was the only person who convinced myself that I was going to be fired with no other reason than my guilt at not having worked hard for, say, three day’s straight. Basically, that was M.’s situation. He has a potential other offer in the fire, so he’s distracted this week only. This burden of guilt equalled his termination.

Conclusion, he’s the same kind of batshit crazy as me. Thank god breeding does not appear to be in our future.

And, yes, I do recognize the irony of all of the times I thought I was going to get fired and worried for no reason, versus the huge bruhaha I completely didn’t see coming with my last employer.