The Bachelorette Pad

The perks of living alone are numerous.  For starters, living to my own schedule; food time is when I make it food time, nobody's banging on the bathroom door and there's no parent/partner/flatmate dropping heavy hints that it's time for my friends to leave.  I don't have to compete for basic resources like mirror space and cereal, and I have no battles over music/TV/heating control.  Loo roll, washing up liquid, toothpaste and milk all last in ways I previously didn't think imaginable and, perhaps best of all, I have the total freedom of prancing around in a onesie/pair of knickers/face mask without the fear of being walked in on by someone who might judge.  I'll unashamedly admit that I love embracing my inner hermit and having a whole house to myself, where I can lock the door and turn off my phone and not have to deal with anybody else's crap, or have anyone whinge about mine.

However, after reaching the six month mark in my humble abode I'll admit there are downsides to living solo.  Just in case you're dreaming about the wonders of living without your pesky housefellows (whoever they may be), let me share with you eight problems I didn't anticipate...

1. Having to be your own hero.

Bumps in the night?  Drain gunk?  A giant wasp flopping around in the middle of the carpet?  Don't get me wrong, it's incredibly empowering to plonk a glass down over the little nasties in life and fling them out into the night all by yourself, but one day there's going to be a noise, mess or beastie that's too much for me to handle and I'm going to need somebody else to tag team in for support.

2. Speaking to inanimate objects.

This ranges from the reasonable, like asking the toaster to hurry up or swearing at the shower when it runs cold, to the ridiculous (see below).  Being away from a nagging parent / screaming sibling / noisy flatmate might seem like a dream, and well, it kind of is, but when you catch yourself asking your oven a question you realise there's no substitute for human conversation.

3. Developing unhealthy attachments

following on from the last point, I made the mistake of naming my car, which is one thing when you have plenty of time to socialise with real people, but in my case unfortunately contributed to us having a somewhat Tom Hanks / Wilson type relationship.  Bingo was my amigo, and when I accidentally ran it off the road I was initially devastated because I’d hurt my car, and it had given its life in place of mine, like some kind of loyal pet.  The more logical “Jesus, that was a scary crash, thank f*ck I drove a well-made piece of metal and didn’t break anyone’s neck” followed later.  It’s easy to lose perspective and become dependent on silly things when there’s nobody around to keep you straight.

4. Washing machines aren't built for one.

I've been waiting weeks to come up with enough "whites" for a full load - and I'm coming to the nightmarish conclusion that I don't even OWN enough pale clothes to fill the machine.  The commandments of colour separation are going to have to be violated, all because I’m too tight to do half a load and I can’t go much longer without white socks. 'Nuf said.

5. Losing the passion in the kitchen

Baking is awesome, but I can't eat a whole cake alone and inevitably when I buy unusual ingredients form the supermarket they go off before I find something to use them for - it’s easier to just buy generic items, throw them in a pan and eat whatever concoction emerges at the other end.  There’s just dramatically less fun in carefully crafting something delicious when there's only me to be impressed.  Seriously, I've had microwave popcorn for tea more times than I'm willing to admit.  Setting a table for one also feels unbearably lame, so having someone around to cook for and eat with is a luxury I hadn't previously appreciated.

6. Not being able to trade chores

Cleaning an entire house isn’t actually that bad when it’s only your mess.  I know where the dirty mugs are loitering – I put them there.  Hair spiders all over the place?  Yep, no biggie, they come from my head after all.  I don't mind most chores, and I have an especially freaky nonchalance about cleaning bathrooms (it's satisfying, I can't explain it).  Washing up dishes, on the other hand... Well I could claim that the perpetual stack beside my sink is only because my kitchen is chilly, and because I don't like filling the sink for just one plate and a fork, but it's not.  It's because I fucking hate washing up and there's nobody here to trade kitchen chores for extra bathroom chores with.

7. Some tasks just need two

I've spent the last few days trying to put up pictures and rearrange my living room (again).  Mentally, I've got it all figured out… I just need another person here to help, because I can’t hold a frame against a wall AND check that it’s straight from the other side of the room.  I've also got a bloody piano that is the most awkward shape and weight for one person to shift across shag carpet, but would be ludicrously easy with a second pair of hands.  Until living alone I massively overlooked how much I took those additional eyes and helping hands for granted.

8. Being able to succumb to every whim
(aka "freedom")

Like the best of us, every now and again I like to break the monotony and do something impulsive.  Unfortunately some of these actions just aren't that productive, and when nobody is around to slap my wrist they can get a little out of control.  For example, haphazardly cutting my own hair, staying up all night for a Game of Thrones marathon, or embarking on an art project that involves lots of acrylic paint near a cream sofa and beige carpets.  It’s easy to make too much delicious chilli, and then wind up eating nothing but chilli for a week, or to “need” a soak in the bath for hours on end, every few days.  Even simpler – to leave the house when washing up needs to be done / post needs to be opened / the bin needs taking out because there’s nobody home to call you and make you come back home and face the responsibility of washing up, opening post and/or taking the bin out.  Lack of obligation is great, but what comes out of it is rarely industrious and giving in to indulgent urges every other day kind of takes the shine off of why they were so enjoyable in the first place.

After six months of independence I have no regrets, and am looking forward a little longer in my own company, under my own rules.  Sharing a living space with someone would definitely mean half the freedom and twice the mess.  It would mean compromise, synchronising routines, and having arguments over the position of the toilet seat, or what's going on for dinner.  But... I have to admit I underestimated what it means to share a home with someone.  Yes, someone to share the washing up, someone to share the electricity bills, and someone to lift the other end of the piano.  But also someone to share your day with, face to face.  Someone to share the sofa with on a Monday night.  Someone to share a meal with, at a real table.
I am still smug about managing to live alone - that I can handle it, that I can afford it, that I can enjoy it.  It’s a double-edged sword though, because as much as living alone means you I do whatever you want, actually, some of those things are just better with company.