Living Alone
I should have subtitled this one “at least for two weeks.” And maybe, instead of “living,” I should have said “hunkering down in a luxury building with countless streaming services at my fingertips and a Trader Joe’s across the street.” The image I chose is also not even slightly representative and far too dramatic, though singing by myself would sound great in that room.
I was home the weekend before last to pick a Christmas tree and watch a nameless football team beat my beloveds. Since then, I have been living the solo life in my apartment. Roomie Olivia is gone for the entire holiday season, because traveling back and forth was not entirely wise with this pandemic. So now, I don’t wear my bathrobe to walk to the shower and take up the whole couch while bingeing American Horror Story.
This weekend, I cleaned the entire apartment while belting along to classic rock music from the lovely speaker my sisters got me (thanks sisters), trying to scrub even my own presence from this place. It was a weird feeling to clean just for myself, knowing that as soon as I was done scrubbing the toilet I would have to pee again. That as soon as I shined the sink I would be dumping oil-laden roasting pans into it and getting kale stuck in the drain. I am still here for a week and now wondering if my spree was even worth it. But what else are you supposed to do when alone?
That’s the big question. NYC is on the verge of another lockdown. It’s becoming too cold in the morning for me to run before work. I’ve done my grocery shopping, so now what? How do I entertain myself and live a somewhat-active, healthy, enjoyable lifestyle while existing alone, confined most hours of the day to 600sf?
As I mentioned, American Horror Story was one of my answers to that question. I read a lot. I meal prepped. I did YouTube exercise videos on the small space of floor between my bed and the radiator (would recommend checking out MadFit). I still ran some mornings, a jogging blob under three sweatshirts, my mask and my headband leaving only my eyes at the mercy of the elements.
My Apple Watch keeps pinging me, saying “hey, you did so much better yesterday, so let’s try for that again,” or, “you’ve only walked 23 steps today; maybe you should get off your ass,” or, my favorite, reminders for me to “Breathe” so I can calm down from doing all of strenuous work of living alone. That was sarcasm, by the way.
It’s strange when I walk past Olivia’s room and see only reminders of life. It’s strange that the contents of my fridge spell out exactly what I, one person, will be eating this week. It’s strange that, when I ordered in, I only had my own tastes to consider (I got pizza, as usual). I have caught myself talking to myself a lot more, because there is nothing to drown me out.
There’s a freedom that comes with living alone, but there is also a confinement unlike any other. I’ve come to realize that it’s people who widen your physical bounds and not open space or more places to go. I am beyond lucky that I have a house full of people to go home to, to end my aloneness. But I am also lucky that, for the next four days, I can work from the couch, leave my pee un-flushed to save water, and yell at myself in the mirror, “Are you not entertained?!”