Alone

Three years of living on my own was really heavenly, I won't lie. I loved my little apartment. I can still see myself the first time I saw it. It was a Monday, August 13, 2007. I mostly remember that date because it had been such a hectic and emotional weekend, what with flying out by myself, getting to Brooklyn, getting up super early on Sunday so that I could find my church building in Newark (and remember, I had noooo clue where I was when I got to Newark because I'd only ever been to the law school and a few of the surrounding blocks nearby), arranging for my moving pod (including finding help unloading it)...oh my goodness, it was stressful. I was stressed. But when I walked into that apartment, I breathed a sigh of relief. I signed a contract sight unseen, and I hoped for the best, and oh, it was clean and big and bright.

I loved how it was quiet...most of the time. A few loud parties, a few neighbors fighting. But that was rare, like fewer than half a dozen times that my neighbors kept me awake at night, so I cannot complain. It was adorable. I loved my green and red color scheme. I loved my comfy white couch, the Ikea shelving and my desk nook. I loved my spacious kitchen. I really loved the way it felt lofty and the widows were so so tall. I loved that the bathroom was not only clean but big. I loved that I could come home and be alone and decompress.

But this week, my parents are out of town, and I'm home with just my nephew and he's gone a lot because he's nineteen and what nineteen year old hangs out at home too much. So I'm here by myself quite a bit, and I'm not going to lie to you. I've gotten used to people being around, and while I enjoy some alone time...like I did in Texas...I am not sure I like the amount of alone time I've had this week.

Company, I am finding, is good, and maybe I want more of it in my life than I thought.