I didn’t sleep at all really. I tossed and turned, kicked the blanket off and then politely asked it to come back again. Actually I didn’t ask, I just did. I cursed any small beam of light that made its way into the room. Hours went by. And finally, at about 4.30 am I sat up in bed and thought to myself ‘I need to move out of my house’.
It had nothing to do with my bed, or my quality of sleep, or any beams of light that I might have taken issue with that night. And I suddenly remembered that my boss always says that when you wake up with what she describes as “3am anxiety” you have to fix it. Stat.
It is funny how a decision can sometimes be made. There wasn’t a big lead up, or a big bang, or any kind of negative energy coming from myself or any of my lovely housemates. And I certainly hadn’t been planning it for weeks or months. But there are, I think, slow and imperceptible changes in life that make decisions for you. I woke up that night and felt like the tectonic plates of my life had somehow shifted slightly, and changed which direction I was standing in.
Without realising it, I’ve stopped eating, drinking, talking, thinking like I did when I first moved in so long ago. It might have to do with working full-time and evolving out of a student lifestyle. It might have to do with longing for a nice place to eat muesli and greek yoghurt in the morning. It might have to do with an incredible urge to be independent, to see how I can cope just living my own life. Completely cutting the “share” part out of my living arrangements. Doing it, for the first time actually, on my own.
It is the end of a good era.
And I did not incorporate one joke into this post, how sad.
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