I suck at it. The older I get, the harder it is for me to live with many people. Or, so it seems. I have my quirks. To which I’m always putting on the backburner. For them. And they, 90% of the time, don’t reciprocate.
I know I shouldn’t complain too much about it. After all, I’m living at home primarily free of charge for four months of the year.
Doesn’t mean it’s okay for my mother to disregard me and my opinions.
Doesn’t help I constantly bite my own tongue to keep quiet.
We fight anyway. Everyone fights me nowadays. Because I’m increasingly uncontrollable. Because I’m erratic and extreme and cautious in a package that makes almost zero sense. yet here I am.
If many of us were to settle in a new place entirely, it would be better. But we’re not. Yet, anyway.
Talked to one of my best friends today. It appears…we’ve made a leap in moving plans. We have two goals. A backup for the other. But they’re feasible.
We’ll be able to cohabitate easily, because we’d all be picking up and starting over with very little, in a place of our of which we’d all be adjusting to.
I can’t cohabitate right now. I absolutely hate it. But I’m picky. I’m fickle. I have my comforts. Which are constantly disrespected.
Biting my tongue is causing me more stress. I don’t want this. It hurts.
And my boyfriend thinks cohabitating with me would be a piece of cake.
~ a little white dove