So I’ve been back home for about a week now and there have been some, shall we say, kinks to the whole thing. For starters my parents are the type to want to know where I at all times. Seriously, if I’m at the grocery store, they’ll call and ask what’s taking so long. I already miss living with roommates who only text you asking if you’re alive after not seeing you for 24 hours.
Or unpacking. I haven’t quite reached the point to where I’m ready to unpack. It’s this big step in saying I’m back here for good. Gone are my days at school, there will be no more crappy college apartments furnished with questionable furniture, no more nights of abandoning all responsibility and drinking a bottle of wine instead. And even though that’s already happened, denial is a powerful thing. I was forced to unpack my clothes today which does make getting dressed a little easier. But still, I don’t think I’m near ready for the realization that I won’t be returning in the fall.
But the number one thing thing about moving back home is the noise! Someone is always doing something. Or they’re all asleep and my creaky house will wake them up if I take one step outside my bedroom door. Not to mention that my brother is 16 and comes with all the trouble of the typical 16-year-old. Schoolwork, driving, doing what my mom tells him to do. All arguments that I’ve gotten familiar with very quickly. Plus he always seems to have something on full blast. The T.V., his music, I never realized how much I love my quiet until now. If only I had enough money to rent an apartment.
On the bright side, living at home means I get all the benefits of cooking delicious meals with the convenience of a fancy stove and cookware. Plus I get out of doing the dishes!
One of these days I’ll post a picture of a recipe I’ve made.