You can’t go home again, said Thomas Wolfe, but what he forgot to mention was that if you do go home again after having lived on your own, you’re going to have to change some habits, hide some stuff, and reassert the fact that you’re a mothafuckin’ adult at every odd angle, because if you don’t, you’re going to get swallowed by despair and live in the basement only to emerge for regular feedings and baths, and possibly not the latter. But I guess that’s pretty long a novel title, so maybe Thomas Wolfe knew what he was doing after all.
I lived out in the Real World for nearly a decade, giving up the country life in favor of Orlando, FL. When the fire burned down my parents’ home, I got a job and moved back. Little did I realize just how expensive breaking a lease is, and just how much living above my means in the city had bankrupted me. It’d be no big deal, we realized, if I were to come live with my parents for a few months in their teeny tiny rental house before getting an apartment. I could save money! I could help out with my special needs brother more easily! It’d be like camping!
And I’m extremely grateful for my parents’ generosity in this offer. They rock. So far, we haven’t killed each other or even had a Real Fight, so all is well.
If you’ve lived on your own and gotten used to being able to do things a certain way, and suddenly you can’t do those things any more, it’s really weird to adjust. What sort of things, you ask? Oh, you know. Little things. Little things like eating cupcakes at 8:00am because why the fuck not. Little things like taking an hour-long shower because WARM WATER HAR HAR ALL MINE WHEEEE. Little things like well, I’m tired of clothes right now so I guess it’s Naked Time (and I don’t even want to get any grief for Naked Time, because we all do it and if you don’t do it, then I judge you harshly). You know. Little things.
To their credit, my parents have been actively trying not to parent me, and when they’ve tried, they’ve taken my “lol no” very well. They don’t expect me in at a certain time. They make no demands upon me. I help them with housework and whatnot because I’m not a barnacle but it’s not like I have designated chores or anything. The rental house is tiny, however. Sound carries. If anyone is awake, EVERYONE is awake.
Right now, all I want to do is buy some vodka and play drunken Wii, and I can’t do that, because “WHITNEY OH MY GOD ARE YOU DRINKING THAT FROM THE BOTTLE WHY ARE YOU PLAYING VIDEO GAMES AT 3AM AND WHAAAAT SWEAR WORD DID YOU JUST CALL KOOPA TROOPA?” And hey, there are worse things than not being able to play drunken Wii. But it’s these Little Things you don’t realize you’ll miss until they float away like dandelion fluff on the spring breeze. I have several Little Things that I’m missing, so I have a feeling this blog post will be a series. To adults moving back in with their parents due to strife, economy, or just ’cause you want to – this goes out to you. We work hard for the money and/or Naked Time. It’s tough when we don’t get any.