Friday, August 18, 2006

Arrested Development

(Warning: The following post has absolutely nothing to do with the early '90s rap collective nor the hilarious situation comedy of the same name)

After the Syd Barrett tribute the other night (amazing, incidentally), Hickey and I got to talking about where we are in our lives. He and I still live in Scarborough with our respective families. It's a difficult thing to feel okay about, especially since our friends are such...adults.

  • I am friends with four people who are already proud homeowners. (Three of them are younger than me.)
  • I have attended the weddings of three friends. (Friend #4 is getting married this Sunday.)
  • Most of my friends have found long-term partners and have been living in delicious sin for so long that they are considered common-law spouses.
  • I don't have any friends who are still living with their parents. Hickey aside, I am the only person I know who still lives at home. (Fine, you too Cowie, but you're leaving in a couple of weeks, so you no longer count. OH - and Alison, too. But that's it!)
  • A friend I've known since kindergarten recently told me that she's pregnant. Apparently, she and her husband (of three years) felt that they were financially and emotionally stable enough to bring a life into this world. Now, while I'm thrilled for her, I'm kind of floored that the word "pregnancy" no longer means "holy fucking disaster, Batman!"
It's going to be quite a while before I get married or feel ready to have children. I know that. But I've been thinking about moving out ever since I got back from Montreal last spring. I resolved to get my own apartment in 2006, but I don't know if that's going to happen. I make enough money to be comfortably financially independent, but moving downtown would mean adding an hour to my commute. That would suck.

I'm starting to wonder if working in Scarborough is a convenient excuse to stay at home and consequently not grow up.

I want my own place more than anything. I want four walls and a roof that I can call my own. I want to decorate it in a way that reflects my tastes (the bedroom I am currently sitting in is full of garish pink flowers and cherubs and lace). I want to come and go as I please. I want bring home whoever I want. I want to lock the door.

I want to leave the nest.

But, to be completely honest, I'm terrified by the thought.

(Now playing: "Baby Lemonade", Syd Barrett)


Blogger JTL said...

You left home to attend uni, did you not? Living on your own whilst working is a little like that, minus the student-housing squalor.

C'mon over to the dark side. Get a place of your own. Stay up late and eat cookies for dinner!

6:59 PM  
Blogger Cap'n Allegra said...

I am already dying to move out. I have to stay living at home for University and my mother is stricter than most. She's got all these plans for me to live there until I'm thirty (she doesn't expect my brother to ever move out) and she gets offended when I talk about how I want some kind of freedom.

What if you moved into your own place in West Scarborough? Maybe something near the Bloor/Danforth subway line? That would make for a fairly easy commute either way. I know the main issue is the psychological leaving-the-cocoon transition, but could it hurt you to start looking? Just take it slowly and maybe you'll find a nice place and decide it's worth it.

1:03 AM  
Blogger Sofi said...

I've thought about that option, but the overall point is to



b) live in an area that I REALLY love if I'm going to be dropping $600-$1000 on rent per month.

Your best option to move out is to go to an out-of-town university. That way, your overprotective mum (and I know the feeling) will actually give you thousands of dollars to leave her home. It's amazing. Try it!

9:33 AM  
Blogger Sofi said...

Oh - in case your mother does not have thousands of dollars to shower upon you, pull up your socks and your grades. You are a smart freaking cookie and if I were a university, I would shower you with scholarships and letters of acceptance and LOVE.

9:40 AM  
Blogger JTL said...

You could always move into some shithole in Kensington. That seems to be pretty popular these days.

11:21 AM  
Anonymous John said...

I understand where you're coming from.

Say, if you have your own place and your toilet breaks, you could take the initiative to call someone to fix it.

However, who the hell do you call to fix a toilet?

11:55 AM  
Blogger JTL said...


5:35 PM  

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