Other than the boredom and potential loneliness, there was another reason I was afraid of living alone. It may sound a little crazy, but hey, it’s me, so that should come as no surprise.
Each day that goes by, I feel like I develop a new weird quirk or habit that I’ll eventually have to break when I live with someone again. (Sidebar: I really didn’t realize just how much time live-aloners spend naked. WEIRD naked, too, a la the “good naked/bad naked” Seinfeld, if you know what I’m sayin.)
Basically, I’ve been worried that I’ll become so set in these odd little habits that I won’t know how to live “normally” with someone again. That I’ll forget what’s not acceptable, like having string cheese and Yellow Tail for dinner, or having in-depth conversations with my cat, or cleaning the bathroom in my skivvies. (OK, that one’s a lie – there are no skivvies involved.)
And I’ve started to LOVE all these things. A DVR to myself, full of Golden Girls, Real Housewives and Say Yes to the Dress? Heaven. Shamelessly eating frozen pizza for dinner three nights in a row? Yes please. Sleeping starfish in the middle of my king size bed? No apologies.
But what happens when I try to fold someone into my life again? What if they put the toilet paper on the wrong way, or hate my shower singing at the top of my lungs, or impose a strict no-nude dance parties rule? Will I balk at the loss of autonomy in my own home, and opt instead to stay free (and single)?
And… honestly… would that really be so bad if I did?