Playing House

Last week, I was on the receiving end of a request that could not have come at a better time.

Not employment unfortunately, but in lieu of  a h'actual job, the next best thing. Would I be able to come and stay at a family friend's flat while they are away, and cat-sit for ten days? Oh, yes. Yes, yes, I can. Sweetening the deal even more is the flat's location: it's just a short bus ride from Islington, Shoreditch, Camden and many more of my favourite haunts around central London. Aside from that, it's precious alone time.

Being back at home has it's perks: a fully stocked biscuit tin, nightly meals and lifts to the tube station to name a few. But with Recently Retired Mum hanging around the house, the parent-free life I've been experiencing for the last eight months is officially no more. For I am back under "their roof" and, alas, that means "their rules".

The Boy has been a frequent fixture at the house since we got back. Disentangling yourself from someone you've just spent the last three and a half months with is no easy feat. We sleep well in each other's company, keep each other entertained, have a mutual understanding that 'irritable' means 'hungry', and all manner of other horribly coupley-things. We both live with our parents, me with more ease than him, and so he comes round and stays the night, and while we've not been working, often in the day as well.

Adjusting to being back at home, living with a family again, is a bit of a shock to the system. And it's even harder when you put a boyfriend into the mix as well. You just want to flop in front of the TV, stay in bed until the afternoon and decide on dinner options at the last minute. But this is always hindered by the fact that your living space is now shared. It's your parents space, and what they say goes. All I can say is at the moment, keeping everyone happy is proving to be a challenge.

So today I gratefully moved out into my temporary abode. Later the Boy, fresh from his first day back at work, will come over and stay too. We have ten days to play house. Ten days to pretend that this is how life is. And I have ten days to get my arse in gear, discover what exactly the hell it is I want to do with my career, and get a job. Once this is done, moving out of home is top of the agenda. Because, as I'm frequently reminded by the powers that be, I'm an adult now, and I can make my own decisions. It's just a little bit harder to do that when you're living at home.