My ex and I are awash in a sea of happy couples, dysfunctional but lasting ones, friends having babies, and people getting married for inexplicable reasons. To be quite blunt and short, even though I'm in a relationship, we feel like the only single people standing.

We recently decided to print off shirts that say "Why?" on the front. On that back? "Because I'm unmarried, childless, and I can do whatever the fuck I want." Wordy, but it spells out our topic sentence reaction to just about every fuck-all-that moment we have when we get a glimpse into the opposite life.

As an expansion on that project, I'm thinking about adopting my own hashtag. #becauseican


Watching House, M.D. in my underwear without the shades drawn. #becauseican

Spent eighteen dollars on designer trail mix for my rats. #becauseican

Going without toilet paper because there are wipes left. #becauseican

Spending this month's emergency money on that new restaurant. #becauseican

Bike ride at 2AM. #becauseican

Noticing the theme? Yeah. It's shit I get to do because no one depends on me, my money, my time, my stability, or my maturity but me, with the clear exception of the dogs and the rats, but they don't judge. I think I'm done feeling ashamed of these things. I may not have long left to embrace them. So... fuck it. #becauseican


Severed Sentences: Issue One

I am beginning a series of entries entitled "Severed Sentences". As a writer, one thinks a lot. Too much, some would say. If you're anything like me, you have an entire inventory of random thoughts with no home. Furthermore, if you're anything like me, you'll think of a sentence and it'll be awesome and brilliant, and then nothing else happens. They're like limbs left out in the street and you're like, "Where's the body!?" Well, I'm sure I don't know! And now I'm putting those sentences to work. Or, rather, I'm giving them a time-out for being difficult.

"Frothing at the mouth with things to say."

Living with a Roommate vs. Living Alone: Lists

The following is transcribed from the original post on Word Press.

Backstory is relatively unnecessary if I hope to keep your attention, so I’ll keep it short. By the other side of summer in 2015, I will be living alone for the first time in my entire life. I have always either lived with my parents, among friends, or with a roommate. The last two years of my life, it has been the latter. Due to circumstances, the current roommate and I will be parting ways once this lease is up. As much as I do not like being alone, I have always had rich, sensory fantasies about being so independent that nothing was the jurisdiction of another person. Everything happened on my time, my way, because no one else had a hand in the sustainability of my livelihood. The following is a list of Now vs. Then, to help me itemize the fearful experience that is preparing for being alone in a living space for the first time in my entire life.

What I Will Miss About Living with a Roommate

  • Shared expenses.

Oh, shit, was that it? Very well then.

What I Have to Gain From Living Alone

  • Reign over every inch of the house.

  • Government over electricity and plumbing usage.

  • A sink full of dirty dishes and no fucks to give.

  • A fridge and pantry full of organic, whole, vegan foods.

  • My own furniture.

  • My own dishes, cookware, and cutlery.

  • A place for everything, and everything in a place.

  • A living room full of the stuff I just don’t fuckin’ feel like storing in my room.

  • Black clothes and no cat hair.

  • Furniture and no cat hair.

  • Towels and no cat hair.

  • Electronics and no cat hair.

  • A cat hair free existence.

  • A lint roller free existence.

  • My nail polish all over the coffee table.

  • My bike propped against a different wall every day of the week.

  • A mailbox full of mail and no obligation to check it.

  • A spare key for my ex/buddy, for emergencies.

  • A tray of decorate stones by the door where motherfuckers put their shoes.

  • Never again a whiff of cigarette smoke in my smoke-free house.

  • Naked time, all the time.

  • No cat box smell.

  • No cat cat box litter.

  • No fucking cat box.

  • My friends over. And over. And over again.

  • A carefully sectioned off “safe space” for the dogs, so they don’t have to be kenneled while I’m not home.

  • My TV. Just mine. Fuck off, I’m watching Buffy.

  • No fucking lights left on.

  • Bills paid on time, every time.

  • One less contact in my phone.

  • One less compulsion to keep peace.

  • One less thing.

  • One more thing.


My independence.