Off the co-deep-end

This is how codependent my wife and I were. When we were living in Los Angeles, we had a king-sized bed and a love-seat. That was the furniture. And it wasn't a sofa, it was a love-seat. We could both fit sitting on it, but if I tried to lay down, my legs would be bent and still hanging over the armrest. Both of us sitting there, we had enough space for us two, but it meant we were touching, at least our shoulders or thighs. We sat there every night, knocking knees through Netflix.

This was a studio apartment, as spacious as it sounds. But even in such close living quarters, we chose to spend everyday, both crammed onto a single love-seat. Yes, we were deemed codependent by a mental health professional, not just "Oh-em-gee we are, like, so totes codependent." It really wasn't healthy.

As I've mentioned, we had his-and-hers cats, and they did not enjoy sharing the space of a studio with each other. But many nights, my cat would come to me, and her cat would come to her, and even in already cramped quarters, all four living beings would come together and share the space of a single love-seat: maybe ten square feet. What's that song? Love's the only house big enough...in the middle of our street? Love's the only House of the Rising Sun? Love's the only brick house (and it's mighty mighty)? I don't know. I think it's some country song, but I don't listen to country music. Anyway, my wife and I were codependent as hell. I loved it.