ordinary things

For the past six months I have had the luck to live in my grandmother's mobile home (one of those other things the foolish young Sarah said she would never do, and then did -- I think the words "I will never" trigger a cosmic chain reaction designed to orchestrate the patterns of the universe in an intricate and complex web of irony) in the interim period between her move to an assisted living facility and the sale of the place.

I look on it as a grace. In recuperating from the difficulties of the past year I needed “a room of my own,” a transitional period between living alone and returning temporarily to the parental nest. Being forced to my native soil, bogged down by a depression so deep I believe I would have needed hospitalization had I stayed in the Midwest any longer, and admitting what in my mind amounted to not just one, but many defeats, stung enough without yielding up my independence entirely and all at once. The trailer afforded a quiet place to curl in on myself and heal.

The time, though, has come for a new kind of grace. By the end of the month I will have once again taken up residence in the room I have called mine since the birth of my little sister when I was three. I have my trepidations, and so do my parents. Our tastes and habits tend to differ in much the same way the diets of rabbits and trees differ; my pride will suffer; conflict will occur. Fortunately we’ve all grown rather adept at conflict resolution, thanks to multitudes of hours in therapy over the past seven years, so all of it will be surmountable. And no one can deny the practical necessity of the move; monetary circumstances demand it.

Even though I have started to feel a burn in my tear ducts when I do simple things like put away the clean silverware and realize that soon I won’t use my own silverware, my own dishes, for an indeterminate length of time (oh, my God, I have worked so hard to gather my own things, and I love my own things, how can I bear to put them in storage?), I recognize the benefits implicit in the upcoming arrangement. One of my concerns, as I grow more and more settled into living alone, is that I've forgotten how to live with people. Singular singleness, as opposed to singleness with roommates, allows for an ossification of selfishness -- not in an evil kind of way, but more as the nature of the situation. As Hugh Grant says in About a Boy, "I'm not putting myself first -- there is no one else, it's just me."

As things now stand, and have stood, I don't have to consult anyone at any time for any reason. I don't have to arrange my schedule to accommodate someone else's; I don't have to take anyone's preferences into account when I listen to music or watch TV (at whatever volume I like), I can cook anything I want for dinner, I can stay up as late, or go to bed as early, as I please. I don't have to share space or possessions. Everything is mine. The freedom is certainly delicious, and I will miss it terribly; at the same time, I know I will grow in ways I couldn't if I lived alone indefinitely.

Simultaneously I have no intentions of remaining in my parents' house longer than necessary. That's not desirable for anyone. This move is to help me save money and pay off my debt; and when the next thing comes along, or when I pursue the next thing, whichever comes first (I have plans in the works, oh yes, precious), I am once again hurtling out of the nest with wings unfurled.

And it's not going to be bad. I like my folks, and I like their pets, and Simon will adjust once again (though I'm a little nervous of how he and my parents' new puppy are going to react upon introduction. She's intensely curious and he's intensely anti-dog), and I'll at least be able to sleep in my very own big grown-up bed. Mom and Dad and I are going to sit down and talk about space arrangements, and where I can keep necessities like my kitchen implements without them being horribly in the way, and all the logistics of a minor household expansion.

At least I'll have unlimited internet access for the first time in eighteen months! That's a HUGE bonus.