musings on being home alone

Both my esteemed roommates are away this weekend, having travelled to San Antonio for the Texas Music Educators Association conference. If you know me at all, you know that having a place to myself once in a while is a big fat smile on my face. Don't get me wrong: these two roommates have been the least stressful I've ever had, and I don't know if that's because they're boys, or we're older, or things are just a little more relaxed than they were when the Cats and I were struggling through our daily routines and trying not to get on each other's nerves about things like dishes and clutter in the living room.

But still: Being home alone is a particular magic I've cherished ever since I was old enough and responsible enough for my parents to leave me for a few hours. It means lounging around in pjs with no one to criticize you, eating crackers and peanut butter while watching whatever trashy movie you're ashamed to own, and peeing with the bathroom door cracked open. It means I can secretly practice Guitar Hero without JH giving me crap about how I give him crap for playing it. It means I can clean up the kitchen and have it stay clean for more than a day. I can practice trombone late into the night or go out and party and bring people home for raucous afterbars or have a dinner party and sit around drinking wine and playing board games.

It be a perfect time to bring someone home to make out with...but I guess I should stop bothering you all with that particular whim of me. C'est la vie!