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10:01 a.m. - 2006-03-07
Having my own space. An essay.
Something Six wrote gave me inspiration for an entry.

Living alone. Having my own space. Putting my own stuff up on the walls. Decorating in a way that suits only me. Cooking whatever stinky, spicy food I like. Going to the bathroom without closing the door. Having lotion, books and girl stuff strewn everywhere. Waking up without someone else's alarm blaring in my ear. Waking up to the sounds of environment, instead of the farts, groans, or incessant chatter of roommates. Watching whatever the hell I want on TV. Being a bitch and having nobody up my ass about it. Not feeling like I need to clean the bathroom every time I use it because someone else's nasty germs are all over it. Not smelling anyone else's godaweful poop or seeing its leavins in the bowl. Setting my own schedule.

But most of all, my energy. Only my energy and that of the people I genuinely welcome into my home. I walk into my apartment, and I feel me.

It took a while to get there, but that's the way it is now. I'm environment sensitive. Some people can live anywhere, not hang a damn thing on the walls, and be perfectly happy. Not me. I need to establish myself in a space. And once I'm done, I feel more at home than anywhere else.

Its not much, but is as mine as if I own it. The only thing I have to do is clean and kill bugs. And believe me, you can kill a bug if you really have to.

Do I worry about not gaining equity in a home? Yeah, sometimes. But that still doesn't outweigh the freedom, and the promise that when I am truely ready to settle down, I will do it. And not before.


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