I used to wish I had my own place.
I used to have visions of myself as this independent woman, doing whatever the hell I wanted when I wanted…in my own apartment. I fantasized about being able to walk around naked all the time. I imagined sitting there telling my cat how my work day was while eating a meal that I had just cooked for myself (filet mignon and a hasselback potato, seasoned with herbs I had grown on my windowsill). I wanted to have dinner parties and invite all my friends and say sure, you can bring another friend, too. I don’t mind. After we ate the glorious meal I had prepared, we would all play Apples to Apples or something and it would be such a riot.
None of the above things are anything I would ever actually do. Except maybe the walking around naked part. Oh, and the telling my cat about my day.
Anyone who knows me well that is reading this is probs like, “Hillary??? Having a dinner party? LOLZ, Y’ALL.” I’ve always been a super private person. I don’t share a lot about myself and I can be difficult to get to know. I know this. Which is why even the idea of having a bunch of people, whether I’m friends with them or not, come over to my dwelling…my humble abode…the place I rest my weary head, is absolutely terrifying. The fantasy Hillary loves the shit out of this kind of thing. The real Hillary loves the shit out of the idea of this kind of thing. There’s a difference.
If I lived alone, I would probably never go anywhere. I’d pull the whole, “Well, if my friends want to see me, they’ll try to see me” and just wait for someone to ask me to hang out. And then find some excuse for why I can’t hang out. Like…I’ve really got to catch up on Downton Abbey, you guys. What if PBS is gone soon???? There’s also so much NOVA to watch!!! Why Mitt, whyyyyy?
It’s a slippery slope for me, people. The second I get the keys to my own place will the be the second I begin my descent into reclusivity.
Good thing I’m too lacking in the financial department to even have to worry about this now! Yay! Glass half full!