Empty houses

I hate coming home to an empty house. I enjoy it for a short period, but after a while it starts to grate on me. Regardless of how good a day I’ve had, my mood will start to plummet and next thing I know, I’ve been surfing on Modcloth and Twitter for an unhealthy amount of minutes (like, minutes-turning-into-hours-turning-into-days unhealthy).

Granted, I only live with my partner. So I have a 50% chance of being alone when I get home. The solution is fairly obvious, right? Get a housemate! An animal! More herbs! Extra CLOCKS! Except our place isn’t big enough for more than us. Neither of us are home enough to make having a pet viable. I have a black thumb. And although clocks could work (they keep dogs from getting lonely, right?) it’d probably drive me more crazy and end with lots of smashed hands.

For now, I stem the loneliness with music, planning, talking to the walls and the never ending Internet.

Thank god I have a partner who loves me including my crazy. Otherwise I’d be a crazy dog lady (allergic to cats!). Not that I’ve fully written that off…

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