Dancing by myself…

…and doing just about everything else, too.

Today, after spending a whole week with me, Kat returned home to Indiana. Coming home to an empty-except-for-Kiwicat apartment was weird… but also rather nice. It’s not that I don’t love having Kat over, because I do–especially now that she works weekends and we’re both so busy that we don’t get to see each other otherwise. That said, I must admit–I really like living by myself, to the point that I seem to have forgotten how to live with other people.

Being in close quarters with anyone for more than a couple of days has become exhausting, and now I feel very crowded very easily… which is extremely weird for me because I usually have so little personal space. I also am very particular about things in apartment now that I can be, so I can be a nagging, obnoxious hostess if you’re staying over for more than a night. This is especially the case when it comes to Kiwi’s habits/safety… so I’m pretty intense about not leaving bobby pins/hair ties where she could eat them, keeping her away from beds where we could roll over on her, and feeding her as close to schedule as possible. Pretty reasonable, right?

Some other things are a lot less reasonable than that. Don’t leave hair in the drain, it’ll clog… but also don’t just drop it on top of the wastebasket. (I find hairballs super gross, especially if they’re wet.) Wash dishes carefully before they go in the dishwasher or just don’t load it–I’ll do it. (My grandma gave me weird cleanliness stress about dishes.) Make sure the toilet paper roll is facing up if you put a new one in. (It makes me twitch to see it the other way around, and then I have to change it.) Close the toilet lid. (So the cat doesn’t jump in it accidentally.) Don’t touch your feet and then touch other things, especially me, without washing your hands. (I have a touch of podophobia–I’m fine with my own feet but other people’s really gross me out.) So, yeah, between that, having my fridge full of leftovers and wine because I am eating all my feelings, and my refusal to wear pants, I seem to have forgotten how to cohabitate. Honestly, I think I’m enjoying single living a little bit too much.

I won’t deny that it can be lonely, or even scary at times. When I’ve had a rough day (something which has been occurring with alarming frequency lately), it’s hard to come home to just the cat and not really have someone to talk to. If anything happened to me, or just in the building, I would be by myself… no one would know for a while. And it’s way harder to get opinions or an outfit, or close the back zipper of a dress, or get someone to smell the milk and tell me if it’s still good. And, of course, living by myself is more expensive.

Yet, somehow, despite all of that, I really like this… and I wonder how I’ll negotiate my living space with a partner if and when the time comes.


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