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
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.