living alone.

they say be careful what you wish for. they say that there’s a chance you’ll regret it when and if you do get it. i say bollocks.
living alone was something i was doing inside my head from a very early age. of course i didn’t.. not literally. not actually. until the grand old age of 21. but alone time has always been something i’ve treasured. i was the kind of child who would happily shut herself in her room with nothing but a good book for company. i am still that child. you could say that was my version of ‘playing house’.

my uni living sitch (2009-12) was quite the opposite. over those three years – i lived in a couple of houses with between 4 and 7 other people. i bypassed student halls.. there was a whole thing with lack of accommodation and raffle tickets and ending up in a random house in the east end of newcastle with an old woman named muriel living downstairs – but that’s a story for another time. my point is ~ it was a full house, but (mostly) a happy one. we adorned it with posters of patrick swayze, cheryl cole, and jls. we cooked for each other. we nicked each other’s milk. argued over the heating. set the fire alarm off with birthday cake candles. and had many many many boozy nights. it worked. it did. but, coming from quite a small immediate family back home – i was kinda done with my free trial of mass communal living thank you very much.

so i moved to london. on my own. smart move.. spoiler – it wasn’t. maybe it was the stress of writing my dissertation, maybe it was the pressure of getting onto the masters course of my dreams, maybe it was the moving, or the breakup i went through at the same bloody time? or maybe it was the whole set. who knows? physically i was in hackney. in an ‘upside down’ flat that i fucking loved. it wasn’t massive. but it was mine. for a small fortune a month. but big windows and a spiral staircase did nothing to remedy where i was mentally – the bad place.
i’d got what i always wanted. but the timing was off.

what followed was a blurred couple of years between london, the lakes, and running off to the states a few times while i tried to get my head into a better one. 2014 i set myself up in manchester. once again to a city, on my own, where i didn’t know a soul – but the difference was – it was the right time. i was 23. and maybe no one likes you at that age, but i was starting to like me – however slowly. and timing is everything.

in my five year love affair with MCR, i’ve resided in 3 flats in total. all very different in size, look and experience. a studio with a conveniently close student local that i was far too old to be drinking in, even then. subsequently, there were those 15 months where i went off-piste and lived with a couple of friends close to salford quays. this wasn’t ideal for many reasons.. it wasn’t as cost-effective as we’d imagined i.e. we were skint. we lived off chips, gravy, wine and cigs paid for with coppers. i.e. we were a bit sad too. lightbulbs exploded above our heads, our bathroom floor nearly caved in completely.. BUT mainly it was due to a horrendous bitchtrollfromhell called karen (yes, really) from the lettings agency. alas, she doesn’t deserve any more type space. let’s just say, i send her nil ‘kind regards’.
it goes without saying, i went back to living on my tod after this – spending the last 2 years in a one-bed in the northern quarter with a broken intercom, noisy neighbours, drafty windows, a seldom-working toilet, inaccessible shelves for someone as vertically challenged as me – BUT A FAB LOCATION HUN. and often, the venue my friends and i started AND ended the majority of our nights.

joking and faults aside, every place has had its own charm. from the room i hid up in in my parents house, to those uni houseshares, to my bitchalor pads. if i had all my shit with me – my pictures, my vinyls, my posters, my books, my nik-naks, my cushions, my candles.. (you get the idea, i own A LOT of shit). a space to myself and somewhere to smoke – i was content with that.

i guess it comes down to – what does ‘home’ mean to you? that sounds like a kooky question, but in all honesty – is it other people, is it security, is it being surrounded by all your things? or is it just where you can purely be yourself? for me i reckon, its the latter two statements.

i’ve currently had to take a step back from the solo living at the moment – but i know that when i do move again – wherever that may be – it’ll more than likely be on my ownsome. i’m one of them there lone wolves. don’t get me wrong – i’m partial to a visitor or two. come round! make me food. drink with me. read my tarot. dance to vinyl. and just make sure you don’t break anything, cheers.

“but do you not get lonely?” – he asks. “or bored?” they all ask. and after a good 6 years altogether of living alone, i can safely and confidently say no. no i don’t thank you.