For almost two years, I have lived alone. Prior to that, I lived with my ex-boyfriend, a touring musician who was travelling half the year. Essentially I lived alone most of the time then too, but still cohabited with men’s clothes in my closets and a plethora of musical instruments in my living room.
But for the past couple years I have lived completely on my own, which I’m not going to lie, is absolutely wonderful. I have filled my walls with whatever “art” I found at the flea market, and overstuffed my apartment with bird paraphernalia. Because dammit, I like birds and I pay the rent!
As an only child, I have grown accustomed to a lifestyle that includes a hefty amount of ME TIME. Returning home from a long day and not having to talk to anyone is magical. Complete ownership over the DVR, fridge, closet, bathroom, and bed is unparalleled.
However, going Hans Solo has a couple pitfalls. Most notably, it’s expensive, and also it makes you really freaking weird. It’s not uncommon to find me standing twelve inches away from the TV screen, eating shredded cheese out of a bag with my fingers. I often sit around in a towel for an hour after my shower, and I shuffle around the apartment wearing a blanket cape. Shit gets real weird.
The other night I reached a new low/high (depending on how you look at it) while hanging out in the pleasure of my own company. My apartment is great in the summer; it rarely gets too hot. Seeing as I live in Los Angeles and summer lasts nine months of the year, I seem to have struck gold. However, during those occasional cold Southern California nights, I’m screwed. These are the nights I am reduced to setting up camp in my hallway, letting my hands hover over the heater like a homeless trash can fire.
On this particular evening, I grabbed my laptop, an IKEA glass full of sparkling water (this party girl’s drink of choice), the remote, and sprawled out on my belly in the hallway in front of the heater.
The intention: To be a creative super star and effortlessly write an article I had promised a publication a week prior.
What actually transpired: I lay on my floor tweeting at my friends, laughing manically at my cleverness in aforementioned tweets, looking up new Hello Kitty wallpapers for my phone, and creating gifs of myself using the app I had just discovered. Oh, and absolutely nothing was written, other than my HILARIOUS inside joke tweets.
Honestly, I haven’t laughed this hard in a while, and I was by myself. It’s always reassuring to know that I can enjoy my own company every once in a while. I know I won’t live alone forever, so I am going to revel in it for as long as I can…shredded cheese, blanket capes, and all.
Heather is a contributing editor at the-gaggle. She is a Los Angeles based writer, improviser, snacker, social media mistress, and aspiring adult. Read more of her food-stained stories about growing up weird at Terrible-Twenties.com, or follow her digital alter ego @MissHezah on Twitter.
The-Gaggle.com is a website that explores modern romance in the Millennial era – which, let’s be honest, looks nothing like we were taught to expect. We feature essays, advice and social commentary with humor, compassion and brains, and we vow never, ever to publish a piece called “The 10 Best Ways to Satisfy Your Man in Bed”. Do click here to submit your work to us. We love you.