A Place of One’s Own

In a few weeks, I’ll have moved out of my parents house for nearly a year. I’ve been busy these last few weeks with a lot of this and that, which has precluded any sort creative thinking, so I’ve decided to write a little piece on living by myself. Not much reflecting going on here, just a disorganized collection of thoughts.

It’s not as though I’ve spent my entire life living in my parents’ house. But I have spent more time there than not, and it was nice living there. I was fed, clothed, and boarded, and never had to consider groceries, laundries, or cleaning. Sure, I did the dishes…

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