I live by myself, and most of the time I'm very okay with that. Most of the time I even prefer it to living with a roommate. The day I moved out of my parents' house a few years ago and into a tiny studio garage apartment, I did it alone. When I moved out of that and into a 900 sq. ft. duplex, I did it alone.

Last month I broke up with the only person that I've lived with since moving out of the parents' house. We lived together for five or six months, and while living alone is definitely what I'm more used to, it has been difficult for me getting used to the solo living arrangements again. I'm having trouble remembering why I was always so gung-ho about living by myself.

Last night I had one of those dreams that wakes you up at 3AM with your heart pounding and an uncontrollabe urge to leap out of bed and race from room to room turning every light in the house on. I even briefly considered dragging the Christmas lights out of the closet and hanging them in every shadowed corner. When I got ahold of myself about fifteen minutes later (yes, with every light in the house on), I called my mom. She was wonderful, not angry with me at all for the late night phone call, and talked to me until I felt okay enough to start turning lights back off and crawl back into bed with a light-hearted book.

Those are the times that I desperately miss being a little kid. When I could wake up after a bad dream and know that all I needed to do was make some sound of distress and Mom would be there in a second to hug me, remind me that it wasn't real, and gently ask if I wanted to tell her about the dream.

Those are the times that I miss being in a serious relationship. When I could wake up after a bad dream and have my lover kiss my forehead, put his arms around me, and sleepily tell me that it was just a dream, and it's all going to be okay.

Well....

I do have a cat. And she did curl up with me and purr when I went back to bed, which may have been her version of don't worry, it was just a dream.

I'll take what I can get. ^_^