Okay I am ready to have my own place again. This living with the 'rents, well, living with people in general blows. I'm not used to having to share my space with much of anyone. Even when I had a roommate she was never home so it was like I lived by myself. I'm not used to the sharing of the bathroom or not being able to watch hours of the forensic shows on CourtTV at three in the morning 'cause I have terrible insomnia because my sister can't sleep in her own bed for some reason so she sleeps on the sofa. But I can't voice any of this because it would make me seem ungrateful. Which, by the way, I am not. I am happy to have a place to stay. But it's something that I can't explain and they don;t understand. I was living on my own for six almost seven years, thats a long time. Long enough to get into alot of strange habits, like for instance needing the TV to be on when I sleep, going to the fridge over and over, opening it, seeing nothing, but still go back over and over, reading a book and watching TV at the same time (oh the horror)...or even just watching forensic shows or mythbusters until my eyes bleed. This is what I'm used to doing. If I wanted to stay in my pajamas all weekend I would and I didn;t have to explain it. If I went out somewhere I just left. I didn't have to sit through a machine gun fire of questions...where are you going, why are you leaving, what are you going to do, who are you going with, are there going to be boys there, when are you going to be back, why are you wearing that, you know black shoes and brown belt don;t match, you aren't really wearing that are you? Oh good lord I'm just going to the movies, really, I don't thing D cares if my purse matches my belt.
I don't really hate it though. It could be a hell of alot worse. I could be living at the shelter. Or trying to figure out how I could earn enough money to make rent with this stupid broken foot, without having to sell drugs or my body to do it. And there is alway the entertainment of watching my sister anf father chase after a Palmetto bug. My father gagging up his stomach and my sister freaking the fuck out. Over a bug...it's kinda funny. In my family is complaetly nuts sort of way.
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3 comments:
You crack me up, because it is SO TRUE! I moved back in with my parents at age 24. I was already a mother myself, but I wanted to go back to college and get my degree, and it was the perfect solution to childcare, and I could work odd hours to pay for school books too. But those 4 years I spent there...Yes 4 YEARS - drove me crazy!!!! That was a long time ago, though. This is actually the first time I've EVER lived alone (my son's all grown up and moved out now) and I LOVE it!!!!!!!!!!! If I go out, I go out. If I spend money, I spend money. I watch whatever I want on TV (and totally love all things forensic). I can eat out of a jar of olives for dinner. Or walk around naked. Living alone totally rocks.
Parents to children:
Thank God you all finally moved out!
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Please don't come back bacause I don't like having to set a good "parental-type" example for you. I prefer to eat junk sometimes. Sometimes I stay out late with my buddies. No, I really don't want to talk about what happened at work. I REALLY do prefer to say the word "Fuck!" on those special occasions when no other word will do. If I can see you I really do have to worry about you (at least more so than when you live elsewhere). I really don't care that you don't like the History Channel and no, I really don't want to watch any more episodes of Bridezilla. In spite of all that I love you and will always let you move back in.
No
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