Calvin: It’s a magical world, Hobbes, ol’ buddy. . . . Let’s go exploring!
~ Bill Watterson
My housemate is moving out today. The movers got here early. Ouch! Cats were still on the loose (housemate's), cars were still in the garage (mine and HM's), I haven't showered (hair standing on end, but women my age are invisible anyway, so that's not a problem), and HM is talking too fast, which she does under pressure.
I've mostly lived alone over the last 25 years, with short spells of having housemates, very helpful financially since I left my cube job and I do enjoy the company. But I love my solitude, and once I got used to the idea of HM leaving, I started looking forward to living alone again, spreading out a little (well, a lot), and imagining how I will set up my blue room. "Blue room" not because I go there to be sad, which I can do anywhere in the house, even with a HM, but "blue" because it is blue:
This is how it looked a few years--and several computers--ago. When I move my bed into the bigger room that HM is vacating, this will be my writing space again, and I feel like a kid playing house: I'll put the desk over against that wall and I'll move the chair downstairs and hey! I have a good idea! Let's drape a sheet over the desk and hide under there when Mom calls us to set the table.
The first time I lived alone, I was 45--and it was heavenly! I grew up with younger brothers and sisters, so many that we always shared a room. Then I was married and shared a room. Then I was in a relationship and shared a room. So when I moved into the apartment in Cupertino and every room was mine--really, it was the best playhouse ever! For the first year the very large living room had no sofa, just a couple of chairs facing the fireplace (which gave me flame and heat with the flip of a switch), several shelves full of books, and a big desk. Cool!
I'm sitting in the blue room now while two guys heave boxes onto their backs and haul them down the stairs. The cats are in their carriers and the carriers are in my bathroom with the door shut. This is the transition period, the doorway between the companionship of having a HM and whatever adventures in solitude come next. Once again I will have no living room furniture except for a leather recliner. And a lamp. And all my books. If I'm inclined to, I can drape a sheet over the dining table. Crawling under it might be a problem. If I don't post for awhile, send someone over to help me crawl back out again.