Nineteen sleeps

In just nineteen sleeps I will moving into my very own bachelorette pad. The way this came about was me having had perhaps the most emotionally taxing week of my life wherein I found myself as part of 'an item' ('but not change our relationship status on facebook item!'; romance isn't dead... Don't tell him this but I couldn't give a fuck what my facebook relationship status says or doesn't say, I just find it amusing that he does worry about it; 'ugh, and then people will 'like' it and stuff...'), breaking up with two different other guys FACE TO FACE as a result of this (which was horrible but the past-me would have just stopped taking their calls and answering their texts as a way of dealing with it so it also felt weirdly good?), having a job interview (which I didn't get), having both sets of parents fuck me over in wildly varying ways (as they are wont to do), having a mini breakdown by Thursday as a result of all this and then just deciding that I want to live by myself. Like, literally, the thought ran through my head; 'I want to live by myself', and then I found myself on rightmove, found myself phoning letting agents and landlords, was viewing properties on the Friday and had signed stuff and paid agency fees and deposits on Saturday.

It all seemed rather sudden and yet has been a long time coming.

I've got this idea that I'll spend my days baking recipes from the Guardian whilst listening to Chopin, or while away hours bogling to Aswad (in reality more like DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince) in my bedroom mirror, that I'll sew quilts with 1950's musicals or 1930's screwball comedies playing in the background. It all seems rather idyllic (which is how you know I probably won't end up doing any of these things after all). But I have been making lists of what I'll need (in pencil of course in case I make mistakes because there's nothing worse than an ill-thought out list with scribbles and what not; that aren't there because you've got a legitimate reason to cross these things off and just look messy rather than complete). But despite the lists (sweet sweeeet listszzz) I've not really been checking anything off. Like, do I know what the council tax band is? Do I fuck. Have I told my bank I'm moving yet? Have I set up internet or utilities for my new place yet? Um, no. I'm incredibly blase about it all. In part because I don't know what the timetable for setting these things up should be. I've no point of reference as whenever I've rented before I've looked lovingly into the eyes of the person I'm living with and fluttered my eyelashes and gone 'do what huh?' and then they've sighed and sorted stuff out for me (protip: this works disturbingly well on males and females whether you are sleeping with them or not. Always). In fact, the only (somewhat) useful thing I've done thus far is purchase a mp3 speaker dock (for listening to the Chopin in the kitchen) and a book called 'Modern Vintage Style' which is going to come in very handy for when I have no money for food because I've spent it all on retro looking throw cushions.

Despite the fact I'm clearly struggling to be an adult of any worth I'm really looking forward to this little adventure in home alone style living. By which I mean I'll be setting up elaborate traps using mannequins and ingenuity to catch any burglars that happen upon my new second floor one bed abode by the seaside. Wish me luck.