I have exactly one thousand, five hundred and forty-eight days before I’m on my own. By then, Dre will be 23, and Matt will be 20. Of course, I am hoping I will be free of them much, much, much, much, much, much sooner. But that’s my absolute deadline for moving out of this place without Young Man-Boy baggage.
Matt likes to tell people, “Mom can’t wait to get rid of us.” It’s true! I love you but you gotta go.
Right now, I kinda know where I wanna live and what I want my place to look like. Morrocan-inspired/bohemian chic but still primarily minimalist. I love lots of colours, muted and neutral shades, low-profile furniture, and strategically placed clutter. I will need an office and arting space, a movie-watching room and a well-crafted bedroom.
All of that in a small space! Anything is possible! I can see what I want; I just can’t describe it very well. (the story of my life). Overall, I’m going for unpretentious sophistication. When you come, you’ll find yourself in a pickle because you’re not gonna want to leave, but you cannot stay.
Living alone will be fun, I feel. I’ve been living with children for twenty-seven plus years. Even if I meet someone, I don’t want him constantly in my space, clogging it up like gunk and hair in a drain pipe. (that sounds awfully romantic).
Went for a walk this morning. I’ve been giving serious thought to picking up the garbage in my neighbourhood, but I am so easily grossed out, it might not be a good idea. Every time I pick up a piece of trash, I will leave some vomit in its place. Then bile once my stomach is empty. That’s no better right!?
“Sam! Please go home and don’t ever try to do a good deed again! Ever!”