Flying solo

by RAF KATIGBAK

Lately I’ve been wondering if it’s possible to suddenly develop a fear of the dark. I wonder because recently I’ve been falling asleep with the lights on. And not in an unconscious, “I’m so wasted on tequila and gin and hash and OxyContin that I’m passing out on my floor and waking up in my shoes and a puddle of my own spit/sickness with the lights on” kind of way. But an “I’m going to sleep but I don’t want to turn off the light because I’m cowering under a cloud of existential dread and being alone in the darkness frightens me” kind of way.

Now that I think about it, I know exactly why I’ve been waking up startled if I hear a strange sound that I’m convinced is the steps of a serial killer armed with several ice-picks who’s about to perform a lobotomy on me as I lay innocently in my sleep. And, for the record, this has nothing to do with the fact that one day a few years ago, as I was doing some plumbing to fix a leak in my bathroom, I found a dusty 10-inch butcher knife wrapped in an old newspaper hidden behind a beam in the floorboards (true story: I immediately called the cops, who proceeded to farcically drop it through several “evidence bags” before just wrapping it in a Provigo sack I had lying around. “So are you guys Quebec’s answer to CSI?” I asked. They were not amused).

No, it really has nothing to do with the possibility that a previous tenant murdered or at least stabbed another person then hid the evidence in my apartment. It’s because, for the first time in my life, I’m living alone. My roommates have moved out and I have the place all to myself. Now, a lot of people upon hearing of my new life in a “sweet bachelor pad” are excited and envious. “Dude, that must be so awesome! Your place is huge now!”

Yes, it’s huge. And quiet. And scary. I’m not used to living alone. Growing up with six siblings always had me feeling that the company of others was not really an option, or a luxury to be enjoyed. It was a necessity. I need to have the din of other bodies and lives moving, working, talking around me. And so, over the years, I had a steady influx of new roommates. Some would become best friends, other would be forgotten, and surprisingly only one would be a total bitch, skip out on bills and be despised.

But here I am now, reaching a point in my life when I realize that I need to live alone. If anything, just to try it out for a bit and weigh the pros and cons of solo living. So, for the last two weeks since my roommates have left, I’ve been doing just that. Marking down both the advantages and disadvantages of living life by myself, king of my castle.

Pros and Cons

Being able to walk around your house naked is a real bonus.

Scalding yourself as you attempt to make spaghetti bolognaise in the nude is not.

Being able to fill the fridge with whatever you want and not having to worry about eating your roomies’ food is a bonus.

Opening your fridge and seeing only ketchup packets and what used to be a tomato and now looks like something from John Carpenter’s The Thing is not.

Not needing to make small talk with roommates after a long day when you want to just be alone is totally awesome.

Wanting some interpersonal contact so badly that you call up restaurant delivery not because you’re hungry but because you want to stand in the doorway and talk the delivery guy’s head off about what he thinks is really going on with Madonna and A-Rod as he uncomfortably tries to slink away is not.

Not having to pick up after your roommates’ mess is a definite advantage.

Realizing that they were actually the clean ones and that you’re now too old to be living like a teenager who can’t close the door to his room because there are piles of laundry the size of human beings blocking the way is not.

Singing Christina Aguilera’s “Beautiful” at the top of your lungs in the shower without fear of judgment is a definite perk to living alone.

Ending up in a foetal position and weeping uncontrollably in the tub by the last chorus is not.

Riff-Raff@sympatico.ca