I have officially been living alone in my own apartment (!!!) for four days now, which makes me completely qualified to talk about living alone. Right?
Varenka has officially gotten into a top school for a grad program, where she will be studying something which I am not capable of explaining, but it sounds very smart. She is now off doing that in a location. Congratulations to Varenka and her unwavering intellectual abilities.
Hence, I am now living alone for the foreseeable future. I decided to renew the lease on our two bedroom apartment all by myself for many various reasons, including the fact that apartment hunting is hard and apparently finding a one-bedroom apartment in Place-Where-I-Live that is safe, habitable, and not a zillion dollars is just not a reality. Seriously. I looked at 16 different apartments. And I’m sorry, perfect-and-beautiful-apartment-with-high-ceilings-and-hardwood-floors-for-1000-a-month, but living across the street from the highest density crime area in the city is NOT AN OPTION for a small female living on her own. No matter how unbelievably flawless and adorable the green walled kitchen is. Or the claw foot antique tub. Or the AMAZING CHICKENS in the spacious verdant wonderland of a backyard. CHICKENS. FRESH EGGS FOR DAYS.
I could have loved you, perfect-and-beautiful-apartment-with-high-ceilings-and-hardwood-floors-for-1000-all-inclusive-a-month. You unbelievable tease.
Alas, it was not to be, so I remain living in heinous-wallpaper-in-every-room-makes-me-feel-like-a-hipster-apartment. Also known as the here-take-65%-of-my-paycheck-I-don’t-need-to-eat-this-month apartment.
Here. I still live here.
At any rate, living alone for four (!!!) days has brought to light certain irrational fears I apparently have about living on my own. Fears such as:
– Becoming a hoarder and having a pile of my stuff fall on me and I die.
– Choking on food, dying, and having cats eat my face à la Sex in the City. I don’t even live with a cat. But my neighbours have one.
– Leaving the oven on all day and then dying from brushing my hair and producing static which sparks and then KABOOM.
– The possibility of there being a flood at night that’s so intense my bed floats away with me in it. Or I drown.
– Getting tangled in the sheets and dying.
– Falling in the shower and dying.
– Not being able to open a jar and dying. Somehow. Maybe from starvation.
Basically I’m terrified of dying alone and no one finding me for days. That’s totally a thing.
Other people have these fears though, right?
Ugh, internet. I feel like death today. I feel like sick on a stick. I feel like someone replaced my innards with a small, moving replica of the Macy’s day parade. There is a tiny mosh pit happening in my head. I have opened and closed my refrigerator at least ten times today without eating anything.
It’s one of those days where the mere thought of being productive in any capacity is making me want to do a literal full blown temper tantrum, complete with screaming and stomping and throwing things, but I am above such things (also that much movement right now might actually kill me). As such, I so did not want to write this blog today, internet. I’m legitimately sitting here writing this and pouting like a petulant child because my life is so hard. However, I shall persevere, because there is a tiny little voice in my head among the angry white noise screaming SUCK IT UP LOSER.
It’s so funny how sometimes I rebel against myself being productive like that, even though I know the pay off will be worth it. Even though I know that whatever I have to do will take less than half an hour and I’m not really doing anything anyways and I’ll feel so much better just getting it over with. I think a lot of people can sympathize with that feeling. That’s why Netflix is still a thing, right? So college kids can watch just one more episode of 30 Rock before they start that paper?
I can absolutely feel the pull of Pinterest at the corner of my mind right now, but dammit, I’m not giving in.
The thing is, I started this blog thinking I would fail. I actually assumed that I wouldn’t make it a full week and I decided not to tell any of my friends and family for a few days in case I didn’t pull through, but here I am, two weeks in, still going strong with a full cache of drafts and scheduled posts. And I feel so much better about myself then when I started this craziness. I feel so much less like a lazy schmuck, living in my parent’s house, working part time jobs, and whats changed? Nothing, apart from the fact that I’m writing everyday and keeping a promise I made to myself two weeks ago.
I guess the moral of the story here is that I knew this day would come – the I-would-rather-gouge-my-eyes-out-then-write-a-post day and I’ve survived it. I wrote despite having a backup post prepared in case of emergency. I wrote despite the fact that I am in bed possibly dying (WebMD says it’s probably brain cancer), and I’ve only checked Facebook once (okay, three times, but I had a notification). And now that I’m nearing the end of this post, I feel pretty damn good, because for the first time in a long time, I’m sticking to a routine, even though I wasn’t feeling it today.
Moral of the story? SUCK IT UP AND GET MOVING, INTERNET.