I dream of a day I’ll rent a small, dirty apartment near the town centre, where I’ll live in my own blessed chaos. I’ll probably drown in dirty dishes, food dregs, unwashed laundry and the such, but what the hell, the chaos will be my and my alone and no one to complain because: I haven’t washed the dishes, and there isn’t a single clean mug in the whole house, and my room looks like it’s been bombed, and you can’t breeth because of the dust and the cigarette smoke, and for how long I haven’t emptied the ashtrays, for crissake?!
Also – no one to talk to me the very moment I wake up in the morning. I really hate that. You live with someone half your life and they STILL haven’t learned that your zombie-walk towards the kitchen every mornimng DOESN’T mean you’re awake. It just means you are going to make a big cup of coffee and will be awake in an hour or so. I hate when people adress me during my zombie-walks.
I want my freedom, my independence, and my chaos. So there.
