The weekend gave me a teasing taste of what life could be like. After dropping my mother off at the airport on (early) Saturday morning, I had the house all to myself for 3 full days. It was glorious. Simply glorious. I played the music as loud as I liked, Rock Band happened well past anyone's bedtime, the TV was all mine and I could channel flip to my heart's content (I watched Dancing with the Stars, How to Look Good Naked and Monday Night Raw all at once). Dishes were done at my convenience and not according to some fascist regime; newspaper got recycled after I was done reading them and not a minute before. The best part? It was quiet when I wanted it to be: music off, TV off, lights off and no need for a box fan to drown out the sounds of people. Bliss, I tell you. I enjoyed it so much, I extended it.
Sometimes, I worry about living o solo mio. I so easily get lonely and I hate doing things by myself (i.e. grocery shopping). I'm really dreading taking out the garbage on a regular basis. But then, I have these brief respites and it only whets my appetite for more. I also worry about my growing obsession with scheduling every minute of my life so that I never have to spend a second more than necessary at home. Having 72 hours with no one around, I realised that it's not that I don't want to be at home ... I just don't want to be home with family. Key difference, that. I don't think a room of my own - my very own - can come soon enough. This way, it won't even matter that plans get cancelled (or forgotten about). Seeking solace in my own company is just not such a scary proposition anymore.
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