Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?! (On Living Solo)

One of the perks of being married (or cohabitating) MUST be the not-living-alone thing.

I’m sorry if this makes me sound un-independent, foolish, or silly, but: I hate living a-l-o-n-e.

Now, I’m not talking about having someone to share bills with {or mooch off of} or to otherwise rely on through thick and thin. Or the whole not-just-talking-to-yourself aspect. Those things are, I’m sure, really cool. Right now I’m just talking about how truly, utterly scared out of my wits I can get from being all alone in a big place at night…whether city or suburb.

Even when I lived alone in my studio apartment in Hampton (until a month ago, when a burglary in the complex put two bullets through my car windows), I made it OK but it wasn’t ideal. I had taken precautions. It was, after all, studio-ized. There was just one big room, so I could take in the entire square footage and watch out for potential big bad wolves lurking in one fell swoop. Still, if I’d been wearing boots at night, there’d have been some quaking in them.

Anyway, the situation right now is that I’m “in between” quasi-permanent residences so to speak, and I’m living with my parents until I figure some stuff out. (Hence the massive, ongoing purge of childhood belongings I keep talking about–you didn’t think I declutter for fun, did you?) Living with your parents post-college, no matter how temporary, has a price all its own…still, as much as I look forward to having my own place again sometime in the near future, I am relishing knowing that  it’s not just me in there.

So who’s afraid of the big bad wolf? That’s right, I am, at times. Just another perk to look forward to in the “someday” category I suppose. True love? Pshhh. The real awesomeness of commitment will be having someone to face the scary, creaking sounds and unidentifiable shadows on the wall with (and, er, the world too of course). Kidding! Sort of.

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