You see, it's that "but..." that I keep coming back to. I like living by myself. A lot. To the point that on a daily basis I find myself thinking "ah..." about something. That I can walk to anywhere I want to go, pretty much. That I can keep really strange hours and not bother anyone but myself (and maybe the neighbors if I run the popcorn popper, but by the sounds of it they keep some damn strange hours themselves). That I'm independent, really, is the gist of it. Well, that and wandering around the apartment without having to worry about my state of dress being un-.
Further, I just can't bring myself to pack. Oh, for the days when I was young and didn't pay attention to my feelings! I could do anything then... what's a little extra misery when you're ignoring a whole elephant's worth of misery to begin with? So often lately I find myself running smack into a wall where there is simply something I cannot do. *whump* and there I am, staring at nothing, my mind spinning in little r-r-r-ring circles.
I don't want to hassle with changing my address again, having barely gotten the mess from last year straightened out. I don't want to figure out what to do with all my stuff. I don't want to make Xiombarg lose her vaunted Only Cat status - I was watching her play with one of her little mousies this morning, and remembering that she never did that in all the time she was in a multi-cat household, even back when it was just her and Morphia.
And I don't have to, is the killer, except from some overdeveloped sense of fiscal responsibility - overdeveloped in the sense of being warped and misshapen and something with which to beat myself. It's so easy to slide into feeling like I don't deserve what I want - I have backed myself into quite a few corners over the years in terms of living situations, which is part of why I am giving such an attentive ear to my doubts and resistance.
Lastly, I simply don't need the extra stress. I'm already suffering the dermatitis outbreak from hell. Yeah, so my life won't be the perfect model of debt-free responsible adulthood it "should" be, but that's been a given for years now. Some people spend their discretionary income on collecting tiny model shoes - why shouldn't I spend mine on housing? No, this is not the perfect apartment, and I'll probably not be here much longer than five years at the maximum, but it's not the most imperfect apartment either, and I don't have to share! [stamps foot]
Yes, apparently I am ruled by my inner three year old. I think I'll try living with the decision not to move for a day and see how it feels before I talk to Uly & Carol, but I imagine they will understand. Especially if I tell them I don't want to swap TVs back (they've got my 35" and I've got their smaller one at the moment). I hope grouchychris will allow me to retain his services as cat-watcher after all...