Altogether unusual

Changes

I want my mommy.

If I tell you I am a little unhappy, would you believe me to be crazy? Here I am, in London, having a great job, living in a small cosy studio not far from the saloon, and, more importantly, in a relationship with Jonathan. A real relationship. And yet, some things seem to simply be off.

After my parents moved to Australia life became new and somehow too normal. I've never lived without my parents, so coming back to an empty apartment can be nerve wrecking sometimes. I now seek company more often than I like to admit it. I am more ready to accept invites from my colleagues, faster in accompanying Eve to her social gatherings, and always ready to spend time with Jonathan. Maybe, somewhere deep inside of me, knowing that my parents were in the house was just enough for me not to feel lonely. Or maybe I grew up a bit in the last year or so, and I'm becoming more and more human.

Taking care of everything, keeping the house clean, my clothes washed and nicely folded, paying the bills in time, getting along with the neighbours, all these little things were also new to me. And if at the beginning they gave me the impression of liberty and independence, I fast became tired of them. I would have never believed myself to be spoiled, but I must say I was. My mother always took care of these things in favour of letting me be a child, a carefree teenager, an artist. It seems to me it takes very much of my own time, to do everything around the house, which I could be spending better otherwise. And if I started cleaning everything once a week, the habit got lost somewhere and now I just tidy up here and there when I know Jonathan or Eve have to come by. The rest I just ignore. I never cook for myself because I am too busy with work, school, or community service, hence the kitchen is not really a problem. I have a beautiful work corner, which is always in order, and I am proud of it, but the rest is really a big, horrible mess. If my mother would see I think she would absolutely murder me.

I wonder why we always wish to be independent, away from our parents, to live the life, to face the odds, and all that intense bullshit. I personally find it tiresome. I never have enough money to buy what I want, I have to cut off the going out nights and organize some indoors entertainment, and I am seriously thinking to move somewhere cheaper. The rent in London is a freaking steal. I knew how much my crayons and pencils cost, because I have always bought them, but I never knew how much a salary is. Or how many things a person has to do from one little amount of money received once a month. And of course I am too proud to ask from my parents, even if my mother offered more than once to at least hire me a cleaning lady. She must have caught a sight of the chaos one evening when we were skyping. Taking all these into consideration, I still don't want to give up. I cannot be mommy's girl for ever. And if I cannot make myself keep the order around the house, at least I can work hard to overcome... adult life. Other people do it, I have to it to. Ok, this is a load of bullshit, I hate not being able to afford stuff, but one thing is certain: I have to pull it through, pass my cowardice and do something of myself.

"Hello!"

"Hi, love! How are you?" His voice on the phone makes me smile. I haven't seen him for three days and I kinda miss him. Ok. That is a lie. I miss him a lot. Lately.

"I am just finishing up a sketch for my next tattoo." I answer while I leave my desk and head towards the window. It's already night outside. I've lost the sense of time again.

"Is this another tat, or the one you were working at this past week?" I can hear papers shuffling and I know he is still in the office. He must be beat.

"No, it is the same one. I cannot figure it out, for the life of me."

"Well, I've never heard you say that before. What is it so special about this tattoo?" I know he listens to me know, really listens, because his voice has a serious edge about it.