i feel somehow as though if i lived alone my life would be more mine. i would eat better because the kitchen would be mine and i'd shop only at the farmer's market and whole foods, and since he'd be able to spend the night i'd be home more often in the evenings. i'd do yoga in the morning since there'd be no worry of my mom interrupting to borrow my black boots. i could walk around naked all day on my days off, if i wanted, and read my book without having to listen to my brother's jay-z or my sister's hysterics. for no good reason i think i'd write more, and better, that i'd be calmer without the energy of this house buzzing at me.


truly: i am grateful that my parents and i get along, that i can live here, at twenty-and-eleven-months without feeling usually caged or cloistered, that they let me back in. i can't afford rent in this county if i want to have any money left when i leave (or if i want to spend any of it on anything else while beforehand), and i'm probably just justifying the fact that i don't do the things i think i would if i left.

but i am, nonetheless, beginning to look forward to the leaving.