New beginnings...

I’m sorry that I haven’t blogged in such a long time, but apparently real life desired my presence at the party. It’s been a long couple of weeks, but I’ve finally managed to set up a little home for myself, and I am really excited. I mean it’s not quite the same thing as moving out of home...did that six years ago. But living on my own? I honestly didn’t see this coming.

My first night was trying, but not in an OMG-I’m-lonely kind of way. You see, maps and I have never really got on. I have considerable difficulty deciding which way is up and where it is that I am standing. Even my phone, with which I endure a complicated and mostly disappointing relationship, can’t help: Google maps and navigation systems will have me walking in circles before figuring out that the little blue arrow needs more than 2 micro-seconds to adjust to a change in direction. And let’s face it; one looks a bit ridiculous standing on a street corner with a map that’s too large to comfortably hold, or with a phone that’s not ringing and is being held in similar fashion to a spirit level. It’s not...cool. I battled with my non-existent sense of direction till I found a shop where I could buy some food. I stocked up on a hearty liquid diet, threw a few other necessities in, and then headed back to properly say hello to the flat. Well, it turns out drinking alone really is as bad as they make out on TV. In fact, it’s worse. Most people that drink alone do so sitting down. This compounds the problem because in order to have something to stare at, you need a constant supply of beverage, but because you’re feet are disengaged you have no freaking idea how drunk you are. Imagine my surprise when I got up to do the dishes and my eyes did a drunken back flip. Unpacking was going to have to wait...

The next night was marginally more respectable as I’d planned to go out for a few drinks with friends. 3 single girls all in towering heels are bound to attract attention and it wasn’t long before we were surrounded by a group of gentlemen. I quickly established my position as the politically incorrect one when I said ‘You look a little sleepy’ to one of the gang, to which he smiled and replied, ‘I’m half Japanese’. Yes, I was going to need a lot more wine to survive that one. The evening proceeded well, till it was time for goodbyes. One of the guys lived close to me, so sharing a taxi made sense. Except, I couldn’t. I live alone, and I’d just met this person. And in that moment, I realised the enormity of my decision (did swap digits though ;-) )

The pros of living by ‘your lonesome’, as Tupac would put it, are numerous. Any level of cleanliness or ungodliness can be chosen, and people suffering from OCD traits (such as myself) can knock themselves out arranging shoes in colour and ‘frequency of use’ order, while throwing out all the psychiatrists’ numbers that their friends have passed on over the years. I am excited about doing yoga in a state of undress, singing horribly (and loudly) in the shower and learning even more wonderful things about myself. But these joys come with the frightening...like being a single female living on my own, needing an alarm, having to actually write a budget (flying by the seat of my pants will no longer cut it), and spending more than one evening alone, with nothing but my thoughts, the internet and a book. The thing that scares me most is not having someone there when you’ve had a bad day. You know, the kind where you want to be mad at the whole world, not speak to anyone, and yet, be comforted by the knowledge that someone is next door in case you need to throw something at the wall. I’ll definitely miss not having that. And I fear that if I learn to be self-sufficient in that regard, it’ll make me even more of an emotional cripple, *sips wine* and possible alcoholic. Here’s to new beginnings.