My better half is away off on some soldier type stuff in what I am assuming is an isolated, cold part of the country to be in during Winter – so clearly he’ll be having a wonderful time.
In the meantime, I’m home. By myself.
When he goes away, it’s when I realise that I don’t really know what being an adult and actually looking after myself is. My mum sadly doesn’t live in the same city as me or trust me, I’d just move back in with her for the duration so she could look after me. But not an option.
Simple things like cooking, cleaning or even going to bed just become ten times harder when I have to find the motivation to make myself do it. If I don’t do it… who’s going to know? Who will care? I’ll get round to it at some point but until he’s actually home what is the point? This is the constant mental battle I fight daily. Note: I feel I should just point out I’m not living in some sort of trash heap garbage dump FYI, but maybe I’m not doing dishes or laundry as often as I normally would…
I honestly feel like when I was younger and mum and dad would leave me home alone for the night. It was terrifying. Simple things like checking the doors are locked and turning the lights off before bed have become a mad sprint session around the house to try race to the safety of bed before whatever scary thing I’m imagining somehow manages to get me. Which is ridiculous.
Even cooking. What’s the point in making a meal for just me? I mean sure I could freeze it and be all organised and stuff, but then again, I could just have toast. For every meal. The toast topping options are really limitless and everyone needs carbs. Right?
Don’t even get me started on trying to make a fire, there’s definitely a part of me that tries to avoid doing it no matter how cold it is just because I know once I burn through the wood inside I have to brave the terrifying possibility of spiders in the woodshed to go get more and I’m just not cold enough to be down for that yet. A blanket, 2 dressing gowns, bed socks and a hot water bottle are doing me fine.
I assumed becoming an ‘adult’ would come with some sort of handing down of knowledge about how to be an adult, look after yourself and a house and a car and all the other responsibilities in life. Unfortunately, maybe mine got lost in the mail?
We’re all still figuring this out but please reassure me that I’m not the only adult that probably shouldn’t actually be called a real ‘adult’.