I’ve never been left in the house on my own. Even when I have, it has always only been for a couple of hours; maybe even overnight, at a push. This is really the first time that I’ve properly been responsible for looking after my own home, and it’s something that I think I have done justice to, despite the fears that my parents had when they left for Lanzarote last week.
I believe that my family have a lot of misconceptions about me. I think they think I’m quite lazy, that I’m not well domesticated in the field of keeping things clean and tidy and that I don’t have an awful lot of common sense- not enough, anyway, to keep anything bad from happening to my house. Although these statements are not entirely false (I am somewhat lacking in motivation, mum did have to show me how to work the washing machine and common sense, to me, is something of a myth) I believe that this week I’ve defied the odds. The house is still standing, I’m still alive, the place is clean and I managed to buy myself some nice flowers for the front window.
A couple of months ago, once I found out that I’d been accepted into university, I was dead-set on the idea that I definitely would be moving into student accommodation. Of course, mum and dad said absolutely not and, of course, that started World War Three. But this week spent on my own has forced me to think about the possibility of living without my family there, and I feel like I’m just not ready for that quite yet. I know my flatmates would become somewhat of a replacement during the week whilst I stayed in Glasgow, but right now, for the first couple of years at least, I have the intentions of staying at home.
I’m sure that’s music to my parents’ ears- although I’ve managed to survive for the past 10 days on my own, I’m too used to seeing my parents faces all the time, and I don’t think I’m quite ready to give that home comfort up just yet.