Homelessness

On the whole, living with my parents isn't a bad thing. It's actually pretty good. There's always someone to chatter away at, even if they're not listening. There are two---count 'em---fridges stocked to the brim at most times. There is usually a free baby-sitter.

But homelessness starts to get to you. Or me, as it is.

I long for the the day I can again fold my laundry my way, eat my groceries that I bought because I like boneless skinless chicken breast and I don't like potatoes. Or potatos.

And then, I'm sure, when that day comes and I live on the other side of the world, I'll miss this place as I did before. But then, we'll have that wonderful relationship of Mom-and-Daughter-who-Live-Separately-Loving-and-Missing-Each-Other-More-For-That-Fact.