I woke up this morning, alongside the person I wake up next to most mornings, under the comforter I’ve had on my bed most of the time since my 13th birthday. I took a rushed shower, slurped down a protein shake, and got in the car I drive every day to go to the job I hate every day. Mitt Romney wasstill problem, as was my bank balance and my lower back.
But I got up in my new house. It wasn’t actually the first morning we woke up there; that was Sunday. But it was the first morning we had anything like a normal routine: we came home from our evening, did quiet computer things on our own for an hour or two, went to bed together and had some, uh, bonding time. Were awakened near simultaneously by WERS and the cat, and then dashed off to respective jobs.
It was the first time in my life I’ve woken up at home with my lover and there was NO ONE ELSE in the building. That probably isn’t true, but it was the first time it was necessarily true. No kid, no roommates, no family, no neighbors. Just us. I realize this is how a lot of Americans live, but it’s really weird. There’s so much space here, and just the two of us. No sharing, none of that subconcious negotiation of space. Last night, I made all the noise I wanted and that little voice that always goes, “Careful, you’ll wake up the downstairs neighbors/kid/roommate” was answered by, “No, there’s no one else in this house,” not the usual, “oh well. their problem.”
I thought I had this really elegant entry planned about what this experience was like for me. I got home a few hours ago and spent the first twenty minutes kind of waiting for the people who live here to come home and interact with me before I realized I was it.
I’ve read a bunch of feminist theorists who say you should live alone before you marry so you’ll have had the experience of total independence. I think those people are weird. I don’t think I’d like to live alone. I’m not sure I’ll like this at all. At the same time, i can see how it’s strangely addictive: I never got to pick out where the stuff in the kitchen went before. I got to paint the rooms the colors I wanted…well, actually the colors M wanted, but they’re perfectly nice.
I guess that’s it — i like living in community. Why is it so weird for families to live in community in this culture? If the Queen discovers she needs to stay in Cali this year, I think I’ll still want to find a roommate – this place is too big and, i dunno, settled, for just me and my sweetie and a baby. and three cats and a ten-y-old. Who in their right mind would want to live with us. *shaking head* this is how we ended up buying the house in the first place – we were unroommatable.
Related posts:
