Sunday, 20 March 2011

Originally posted: 04/03/11 Living on my own is awesome/pitiful, depending on your outlook on life

I moved into my very own space for the very first time just four months ago. It's a tiny little second floor maisonette with a nice big living room, a bathroom that tries to kill me (a story for another time), a nice big bedroom, a cute little kitchen and loads of storage space.

At first everything was new and exciting and I found myself missing my little home when I wasn't there. Sleeping away from my new bed was physically painful for me. Eating food that I hadn't bought and stored in my own fridge or freezer just tasted wrong. Conversations that didn't involve something to do with my beautiful little flat at some point seemed empty. Yes I was a woman in love and (as has always been the way with me) it was with an inanimate object.

After a couple of weeks the flat attacked me viciously (through the bathroom, I promise one day I will explain) and we fell out temporarily. This was a little inconvenient as due to the attack I was house bound and so couldn't leave it, but you know what they say: keep your enemies closer than your friends or something.

We made up after Christmas when I had to stay away from it for four days. Absence certainly did make my heart grow fonder and all was forgotten by the new year. We went back to being sickenly in love again for another good two months.

We're now at that place in our relationship however where we are comfortable with each other. It doesn't need to hear me compliment it for being awesome all the time anymore and a couple of weeks ago when my arm decided it hated me and stopped working, my flat was lovely and looked after me well.

All of this being said, I feel we reached a new place in our relationship last night. We experienced a moment that I think was truly beautiful but others may think is grounds for me getting a room mate. I had gone into the kitchen to make a hot chocolate and decided to sit on my kitchen counter by my window to drink it. Opposite me was the sink which I soon noticed had not been turned off all the way and as a result every five seconds a drop of water escaped from the faucet.

With the fascination of someone stoned (I wasn't actually mum/dad, don't worry) I sat, my eyes glued to the tap and watched as each drop formed and fell into the sink. It was at this point that I came up with my little game. Could I time my voice to say the word 'drip' at the exact time the water hit the bottom of the sink? The answer is yes, yes I could.

In fact this game was remarkably easier than I had initially thought and once I had got the timing right I was getting it spot on every time. It wasn't until I looked at the clock and realised that I had been playing this game for five minutes solid that I realised for the sake of my sanity I should probably stop and do something society would deem as normal (I went and straightened my hair Society, you can be proud).

I think me and my flat reached a new level of comfortable that night. It didn't laugh at me for playing my little game. In fact I like to think that it was happy with me for noticing the little things it does (like warning me my tap is still slightly on by making a large dripping sound) as well as the big things (like keeping me warm and dry and giving me somewhere to sleep).

I do appreciate that I am already at this level and I am only four months into the solo living experience. At this rate I'll be on the verge of being committed within a couple of years. But think of the fun we'll have as we get there.

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