Proceed with Caution: A rant is brewing with this post. Readers should be wary of the youthfully angst shining through in this post.

Being back at home is…stressful. Ok, its not really stressful. Its more a problem of having someone attempt to micromanage me after being on my own for a while. After living on my own, relatively speaking, being back at home is just annoying. My mother and I don’t fight all the time. Thankfully, I think we’ve passed that stage. Now, its just the annoyance of knowing I’m living in a home that’s not my own to run. It really does feel like her home that I’m just staying in. Things should always be the way she wants it, how she wants it. Honestly, its a bit tedious.

It’s not like she’s some tyrant or OCD. She’s not. I don’t know. When you’re used to cleaning when you want or simply just being held accountable to yourself its annoying to have someone always reminding you of households duties you haven’t forgotten. My mom always reminds me that one day she’ll be gone and I’ll miss these pleasant reminders. *que eye-roll* She’s not wrong, even if it is an incredibly dramatic thing to say.

I feel like Charlotte Lucas after she married Mr. Collins, it would be “such a pleasure to run my own home.” Not looking forward to all bills that come with that but I just miss have my own place set up after my own style. Candles everywhere, plush covers over trunks, soft lighting.

That aside, it’s been kinda nice being at home. Spending time with my parents. Driving all over my city. Going bowling with Dad, losing terribly. It’s not a horrible life really. I just have moments when I miss my little apartment with its little kitchen and decent sized bedroom. No mother asking if I’ve vacuumed the floor or reminding me to change the sheets since I have company coming over.

Slightly childish rant complete. Off to complete my list of chores…