On Saturday, January 12, 2013 I was doing my usual Saturday morning thing: listening to CBC, drinking coffee, and reading the internet. I came across this article in the Globe and Mail about the growing trend of living alone. I liked it. I tweeted it. Kurt saw it and we spent an hour DM’ing back and forth on the perks of living solo. We had never met at that point. It was foreshadowing to today.
Tomorrow we find out about a condo–both if and when we get it. If all goes according to plan, we will take possession on March 13th. But it could be later than that and we could not even get it all. Either way, Kurt is moving out of his place and taking up residence in my little basement suite for a currently unknown amount of time.
I’m so excited for this next step, after 13 months I’m ready for it. I want to see him every day, even the busy ones. Especially the busy ones. I want to cook for him all the time. I want to laugh with him when I’m feelign silly and just be next to him when I’m feeling quiet. I’m so excited to be laying down roots with this wonderful man. That said, I am feeling a bit pre-emptively nostalgic for the 5 years I’ve spent living on my own.
I just need to wax poetic for a minute.
I’ve lived alone since March 2009 and I loved it since day one. I love taking up the entire bed and being in charge of all the organising. I love singing off key and dancing extremely poorly and not feeling shame. I love keeping the heat on high and listening to whatever I want whenever I want. I love having the option of not interacting with another human for an entire weekend and acting like a complete sloth in private. I love eating a wheel of brie for dinner and not having anyone pass judgement. I love talking to myself and practising all the things I should have said. There is so much about living alone that I love, but more than any of it I love Kurt and the idea of our life together.
Okay. I’m done now. I could go on, but I’ve got a dinner date with my future room-mate.