I should really be working on my imminently-due assignment, but instead I’m thinking about British Columbia again. More specifically, I’m thinking about what it’s going to be like to live on my own.
I mean, seriously, my house is an unlicensed circus. I can’t really fathom going from: my dad playing his trombone or singing improvised opera; my brother strumming his guitar or blowing zombies apart in a video game; my sister yapping on the phone and listening to the latest pop sensation (which she will hate in a month); my drunk uncle stumbling in from his isolated room and going on about not taking shit from the man; my mom on one of her frequent visits, poking her head in my room and saying “Fabi! Ju wanna coffee?”; my dog howling at the mailman, his personal arch-nemesis; my cat with the broken purr (he actually sounds like a smoker); our oldest tenant, Dave, who lives downstairs and laughs in full booms when watching sit-coms; and the new tenants–a young Mexican couple with a baby who screams like a banshee on a bad night…
…to just me.
As crazy as it is, and as non-conducive to studying as it gets, I’ll miss this chaotic excuse for a living space.
I’ll miss it an awful lot.