There are a lot of things nobody (everybody) tells you about post-grad living with a bunch of college students, not the least of which – they have a spring break, you do not. This week everyone in my gigantic, full-of-love-and-girl-power house disappeared, leaving me staring at a week of quiet.
Chill out, you might say. You still interact with other human beings at work. Also, you’re being a baby. These are all valid points, and to counter I say BUT STILL.
At first I thought it wouldn’t be that bad: I have a lot to do, I’ve been meaning to get into Father John Misty, I could learn French, I could learn how to code, I could learn how to code in French. But as I was wandering around Aldi’s-a place no one wants to spend more than the required amount of time-trying my best not to go home, I realized it was going to be a long week.
But interesting personal cultural study, right?
First I got like, really healthy. We’re talking meal planning, hot water with lemon, all the food groups healthy. I returned to my nonexistent gymnast roots and tried to do a back walkover for an entire evening before deciding some people have it some people don’t.
I read two books in two days, I did get pretty into Father John Misty, I spend the longest consecutive time in my history thinking about physics. I ate exclusively with my hands. I worked myself into a place of such emotion that just thinking about the concept of father-daughter dances for 6 seconds made me burst into tears.
I imagined at least 953 scenarios per day of my interaction with the kidnapper hiding in the room I was walking into, for some reason my kidnappers always have something devastatingly witty to say about my ignorance. Do you think they’re that sharp in real life?
I became freakishly clean, which is embarrassingly counter-intuitive. Normally it takes a week and a death threat for me to do the dishes, but this week with no one to be upset but me the kitchen was clean all the time. I can’t imagine why this would be except that I am a horrible person who hopes my friends will think my dishes are theirs and will do them for me. An alternative conclusion is that I’m a really great roommate but only to myself and no one else.
I even remembered to take the trash out, for the first time in recorded history.
Thank goodness my friends are home.
(Note: I am no longer alone in my home so kidnappers YOU MISSED YOUR CHANCE SORRY)