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a home + living guide for the post-college, pre-parenthood, quasi-adult generation

07.08.2002

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home alone seven days of the solo life 
by Yee-Fan Sun
| 1 2 3 4
continued from page 3

day 5
I do battle with a junebug tonight Ė those loud, buzzy, none-too-bright insects that suddenly turn up anywhere thereís light each June, like when we first moved into this house two years ago. Theyíre sizable little buggers Ė fat and round Ė but essentially harmless, beyond the godawful-irritating noise they make. This junebug keeps trying to crawl my way, my frequent swats with my flip-flop serving little purpose but to make its progress just a bit slower. Normally, I hate to admit, Iíd call the boy to come get rid of it Ė not that Iím scared of insects; I just donít particularly like picking them up to move them outside, and thereís certainly no point in killing a poor dumb junebug. After 15 minutes of willing it to find its way to the door, I sigh, give up, and escort it there myself.

Iíve just finished altering a dress -- bought two years ago but only worn once because I decided it just didnít fit right in the waist Ė when B calls again. Since the junebug has been my sole source of interaction with any other being this day, I convince him to procrastinate some more with his work and come over to keep my company. Iím a terrible, terrible influence and I donít feel guilty at all.

day 6
Iím planning a true girlsí night tonight as my friend Jís coming over. Itíll be homemade pizza and Ben + Jerryís, plus more Sex and the City, of course. Right now, though, itís late afternoon and Iím burnt out from staring at the computer. And as I walk from my office to the kitchen, itís hard to escape this fact: the house is a pit. When youíre living with another person, itís so easy to blame the chaos on them Ė their stack of old magazines obscuring the coffee table, their pile of clothes that may or may not need laundering, their socks strewn all over the floor that most definitely do need to be thrown in the wash. But the dishes sitting in the sink are mine, and the laundry waiting to be folded is mine, and the papers obscuring the kitchen table are mine, and the shoes scattered all over the floor of just about every room are all mine, mine, mine. Yes, itís time to face the facts: Iím a slob. Time to tidy up before J comes over and discovers this dirty little secret of mine.

day 7
This morning I wake up hugging my pillow fiercely. I miss the boy. Fortunately, he comes home in six and a half hours. Not that Iím counting, mind you. Iím good at being alone, really.


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