JustRunJustLiveJustBe

There are times I really appreciate living alone. Like, say, the last 15 weeks when I’ve come home from work only to work more. That’s when it’s nice to be alone– when I need quiet and calm. Doing whatever I want, however I want. A week ago I was at a friend’s for dinner and trying to help clean up when her husband kindly came over to the dishwasher and asked me to step away, because “that is not how it’s supposed to be loaded.”* Yeah, right about then I was glad to live alone.

Other times, though, I don’t like it at all. The truth is, I love a busy house. I love when I’m in one room and people I love are sleeping in the next room. I love doors opening and closing, noise, and a constant shuffle. I never grew up with that, but I did go to those houses. Those homes of friends that were hang-out central, where we’d watch movies all day on a snow day, where their brother’s band would practice in the garage. There was always movement, laughter, food. It always made me feel good. Laying stretched out on carpeted basement floors watching football or 90210 (ha), playing Super Nintendo (ha ha), and just being together. I like being together.

That’s when it’s tough. Nights when I’m too lazy to cook, when it’s so quiet I can hear the clock tick and the chimes outside blowing in the wind, it’s those nights when I’d like to have that full house. When I need to have it. I need to watch things happening, to witness the shuffling around, to hear the screen door open and close and feel a part of it all.

I think it’s inevitable that I’ll have that house one day. Until then, considering I spent an hour on the treadmill last night singing Dolly Parton songs at the top of my lungs, it’s probably a good thing I’m not there just yet.

______________

* For the record, I will never complain about someone else doing the dishes, and I do not understand people who do.