“We are rarely proud when we are alone”

Item – H is away for a few days, and I am practicing solo living. I am supposing we will have quite a few of these practice runs up until we finally split. Which is a very good idea. We’ve been living together since we were 23. We have rarely spent even a night apart. I am very bad at being on my own. Shameful, but true. Practice runs. Can but help.

Item – I had a successful and productive meeting with my bank. There was no reason to suspect it wouldn’t be. I am a successful and productive adult. I can talk to my bank about savings and mortgage assessments. Why on earth shouldn’t I? Of course I wasn’t so nervous and freaked out that I forgot to eat breakfast and then forgot my mobile phone at home and for one brief moment of existential nihilism forgot my birthdate.

Item – Having successfully Dealt With Bank, in the form of charming young man in slightly crooked tie, I had no one to ramble on and on about it all at. Normally I’d call or text or email H about it – ‘Hey! H! I unlocked Adult Achievement Level Talking To The Bank!’ I felt all weird and ‘off’ until I remembered the internets. Hi Internets! I went to the bank! Like a grown-up! And talked about money! It was actually not that hard! I’d rather slam my hand in a door than do it again!

Item – Cooking for one sucks arse. I did it successfully on Saturday and on Sunday, nourishing tasty meals with vegetables in them and everything. Tonight? Left over polenta and bacon. Even the bacon failed to rescue it from mere adequacy. I am disappoint.

Item – Undignified panic attack in the supermarket on Sunday, when I was half-way through the shopping and realised just how much groceries cost every month. Oh, I did actually know this, on account of not being a flaming idiot, but the holy fucknuts food is expensive aspect struck me with sudden and frankly unattractive force. That, combined with Looming Talking To The Bank, had me hyperventilating behind the mushroom display. Go me!

Item – I startled awake at about 2am, because there was a noise, a noise, in the other room. A noise. I held my breath. It did not repeat itself. I spent ten minutes nerving myself, then crept to the door, holding a knitting needle as a weapon. I flung myself into the lounge, and discovered! That! A noise like a book sliding off a pile of other books! Is caused! By! A book sliding off a pile of other books! I poked the culprit with the knitting needle on principle, and went back to bed to dream of… things… trying to open the window from the outside. And I damn well know if I’d been woken by a muffled slither and thump from the other room if H had been beside me, I’d’ve listened for maybe 30 seconds, said ‘meh’ to myself and gone back to sleep.

Item – Some friends took me out on Saturday and I was light-hearted and amusing about The Dividing of the Saucepans, and then I went home and cried because I was all alone and didn’t want to divide the saucepans at all. And then I cried because it was warm and sunny and couples were out and about holding hands and everything. And then I cried because I should be so very bloody hugely pregnant I could barely move, let alone prance up and down the city centre, drinking coffee and giving up my seat on the bus to others. And then I did the washing up.

Item – I also did laundry. So there.

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9 responses to ““We are rarely proud when we are alone”

  • L.

    It’s terrifying being on your own when you’re not used to it. And it’s terrifying making huge changes in how you live your life. Put the two things together, and it’s enough to have anyone jumping at books, grocery prices, motes of dust… It’s just scary. And hard. But yay! for successful bank interactions, and laundry, and making it through the food shopping! One foot in front of the other.

    This is a strange thing to say but I just realized I’m visiting London in about two weeks. I’m awkward meeting people from online, my mother will be with me, I could be a psycho nut … but if you would like an awkward distraction you have my email 🙂

  • illanare

    When A first left I had a meltdown in Sainsbury’s because I no longer needed to buy Nine Bars or decaf coke. While the big things (Banks, Bills and Bumps in the Night) are expectedly difficult sometimes it’s the small things which really floor you.
    Sending hugs, biscuits and cups of tea.

  • Melissa

    Well done May! Small victories my dear, relish in them! It sucks, it’s scary and difficult, but you’ll be equal to the challenge.

  • Dr Spouse

    It’s funny how a small amount of food suddenly adds up to How Much Again? isn’t it?

    I never really got the hang of cooking for one, despite loving to cook and living on my own (or with flatmates that didn’t cook with me) for about, what, 10 years all told?

  • twangy

    There you are, all out there, making adult decisions. Very well done. This stuff is still alarming to me though I was single for I dunno years in my thirties and managed fine, really. No house of mine burnt down, for instance, and no one got poisoned or arrested. It was more the anxiety of forgetting something important which was unfun. However the anxiety produced attention, which in turn kept the house standing. The point being if *I* can, the lawd knows you certainly can, though I wish all this stepping up wasn’t necessary. Sigh.

    Why is it things decide to slip and fall hours after they’ve been sitting there? Why then at that moment?
    Well. Why so many things, really.

  • a

    Hurray for braving the bank! I don’t mind deposits and withdrawls and filling out of paperwork, but actually talking to people about money makes my eyes glaze and my brain wander off to parts unknown.

  • Mina

    Nobody likes to talk to ZE BANK. Asking for money is quite, for the lack of better word, intimate. And by golly, intimate is not what one wants to be with the banker, ffs! But yes, it is a milestone in adult development. I remember feeling very cheap after that first talk, like I sold myself so short to the only one who wanted me. Even later, when the income was increasingly larger, still felt cheap. Gah. Banks. And they never lose, bastards…
    Anyway. Going through changes like these must be so hard. And no matter how anyone would like to help, you have to learn to do it alone. Which sucks majorly. Thinking of you, dear. And holding you, virtually, very close.

  • Jenny

    I’m so sorry, May, how completely awful. All the crying is very reasonable and reasoned. The only alternative this is better than, is living with a velociraptor-owner who’s gaslighting you into building a chicken coop.

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