I now live in a shared house with people. I love my room and the two girls are lovely, don't get me wrong, but I don't like it. It's not my house and they aren't my things here (well, some are, but not the furniture). And yes, it might be a nicer house with a nicer kitchen, nicer bathroom, nicer garden, in a nicer area and nearer to the train station (4 minute walk from my bedroom to the train station, rather than 20 minutes), but I do not like it. It isn't mine, it isn't a symbol of everything I worked for, it is just a symbol of my life slowly moving out of my control.
I have been happily living in my own little bubble of independence since I moved to London, living on my own, doing everything myself and not asking for help, but now this is a step away from that. How I live my life at home is dictated by other people, the bathroom schedule, the kitchen schedule, the cleaning schedule etc, and everyone keeps reminding me that "it's only a stepping stone, you'll be living with Mr A within 5 months" and yes, that is true, but that is still a sign that my life is moving out of my control. Being in a serious relationship, especially when you live together, means that your lives become entwined, and you can't make decisions on your own. I find that hard to deal with, and I know I need to get over it because I can't stay like this forever (as much as I think being a spinster with a brown sofa and a lot of cats actually sounds quite nice) because that's just a ridiculous, selfish attitude to have on life. It still stresses me out, though. At least, at the moment, I can protect myself, but when that onus isn't all on me? That's scary.
Being a grown up is stupid.
Fact.
