hathycol: (special crack jack)
[personal profile] hathycol
I've packed everything and cleaned the lounge within and inch of its life, and now I feel sick with nerves because my Dad is going to be here. Theoretically, he should be here soon, although a text at some point today saying "Why, yes, I have left the house" would appease my nerves.

Why am I nervous? I think it's the crossover of house and parents. Throughout this year, I have sought parental guidance on the following issues:

-My car is broken, what do I do? (Translation: PLEASE GOD HELP ME OUT FINANCIALLY ON THIS ONE.)

-What's the recipe for this?

That's been, well, it. I haven't phoned for advice on cleaning, or cooking past a recipe, or doing my washing, or paying bills, or any of that 'living by yourself' thing. And I could deal with a parent coming to visit me if the house was like it's supposed to be - with all the fun stuff in the lounge, and my room the way I like it, but it's just back to the bland and depressing way it was before, where everything is beige. AND the bathrooms still need desperately cleaning. And I know that now they'll presume I'm somehow totally incompetent at living by myself. I get this a lot from my mum, who seems to assume that I live in some sort of student hell and I never clean and that I have basically just lived in my room frantically wanting to go home.

I want to have a house that I can show off, and most of the time I actually can, but... huh.

I'd like to stop being nervous now. And I'd like him to turn up, so that I can get some of the huge amounts of boxes and plastic bags out of my room, and get out of this house, where I've been lurking in my room, because I'm not going out, because I'll just get in everyone's way.

*checks phone, just in case*

Also I am vaguely worried that Dad is currently in Aberdeen, getting very lost, because, well, he's as bad as I am for directions. By that, I mean we both assume that because we went to a place a year ago we can totally remember exactly how we got there. Seriously, though, I can get from Ormskirk to St Andrews in four and half hours and he speeds worse than I do. Where is he?

I don't want to spend three and a half months in Ormskirk, going back to being a daughter rather than an autonomous adult.

~Hathy_Col~
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