Last night I had a migraine, and it wasn’t all that bad, but bad enough that I felt rotten. When you have a migraine, “rotten” is a relief. It’s way better than other times when you pray for the good Lord to bring you on home.
The point is, because I was at maybe a 5 in the misery scale, I still walked Edsel, who in case you wondered is not an empathy dog. If I’m ever sad or sick, he just carries on with the part where he wants what he wants, which renders him kind of a dick, but mostly a clueless dick, so there you go.
So I walked him, and every step was like another rod going into my head, and I formed the thought that if I didn’t live goddamn alone, I could ask someone else to walk him. But if I didn’t live alone, I wouldn’t be guaranteed being left alone with my migraine, which is all I ask for when I have one.
This lead to me going to bed at 9:00 last night, awakening at 4:00, and resulting in me lying there listening while the first birds got up and ordered room service, and I came up with a list of the ways I love living alone and the ways I hate it. Here we go.
Reasons I Hate Living Alone
- Illness. Once I had a raging, please-God-take-me-now migraine, and I was clean out of meds, and had to drive myself to the pharmacy. Another time I could not stop throwing up (thanks, PEG) and dearly wanted 7-Up, and the person I was seeing at the time (THANKS, Tall Boy) would not go get it for me cause he didn’t want to get sick. So I had to lie there, parched.
- Money. When I run out before payday, as I am wont to do, I am out of luck. Hello, popcorn for dinner. There’s no one to say, “I still have $50. I’ll go get us some dollar burritos.”
- Cleanup. Oh, look. That pan is where I left it. No one magically cleaned it for me while I was gone. In case you’re worried sick about what the hell I’d use a pan for, it’s to cook my Franco-American spaghetti. Obvs.
- Murder. Remember a few months ago when I was jolted awake by someone whisper-screaming my name at 3 a.m.? Turns out he was calling his dog with a name similar to mine, a slant rhyme of my name, as it were, but still. It was horrifying. I’ve seen Edsel go into protective mode a few times, and that gay blade of a dog gets his fangs going and he’s scary, so I do feel better having him there even though he spends most of his time You Tubing Queer Eye, but I’d feel even protected-er if a man were there. Or a really big woman.
- Bugs. I recently saw La Cucaracha near my front door, and let me tell you what. He rested peacefully under my dictionary for a week, until a man came over and I had to say, “Can you, um, lift my dictionary and throw out the dead roach under there for me?” Also, whenever I say La Cucaracha, I think of my LA cleaning lady Alicia, who had a neighbor she hated and called La Cucaracha, which was horrible and hilarious all at the same time.
Reasons I Love Living Alone
- Illness. Okay, yes, having to go get my own stuff sucks, but mostly when I don’t feel well I want to be left completely alone. This is why Marvin’s predilection for …bothering me when I was sick was particularly charming. I do like being alone to moan pitifully, or to look like hell for three days, and not have to hear about it from anyone else.
- Money. Say, I just got paid. What say you take that money, spend most of it on rat poison that you jam into your forehead, and live on popcorn for two weeks? Okay! I can spend my money when I want to, how I want to. And I’m learning a thing: When left to my own devices, with no one to nag me to be responsible, I’m in fact more responsible. You start pursing your lips at me and telling me to do something adult, that’s exactly when I take my 401(k) out and buy a Birkin bag with it.
- Cleanup. I don’t have to get angry that there are black cords in all my drawers. I don’t have to walk in to chaos and dishes that I wasn’t prepared to see. I’m not CLEAN clean, but I’m pretty tidy when it’s just me. Mail gets put where it should, dishes get washed the same day, and okay. Putting away my clean laundry is not my strong suit. Why put it away when there’s a perfectly good dining room table for it to lie on? But guess what? I live alone, yeah-ahhh, with nobody else. No one complains about it, cause no one’s here to complain. Plus also, cats love to curl up on clean laundry.
- Murder. If I live with someone, there is a 70% chance that with my temper, one day I will murder him. It’s a wonder Marvin is still on this side of the grass, really. And Ned! How is he not dead man walking?
- Bugs. Other people bugs me.
I guess that’s it. Have you ever lived alone? How’d you like it?