Apr 20, 2013 by

          I’m ready to go home. Back story: I’ve set up camp at my parents’ house for the last three weeks and four days. Running away from my problems is somewhat of an art form that I’ve mastered. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with physically removing myself from an uncomfortable situation until I’m ready to deal with it. I’m ready to deal with it now.

          To be honest, I’ve thought about moving back in with my parents. It’s an idea that I’ve been toying with for a little while, slightly before my recent hijacking of my old bedroom. The vibe in mine and Olivia’s rented apartment is tense. I feel it the second I walk in the door. The pressure is overwhelming. As the one who fucked up, I have to prove myself. I constantly feel like there’s an invisible tally chart following me around the room that Olivia is unconsciously using to tabulate my mistakes:


Bad Maria

Good Maria

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ERROR: No results found for “Good Maria”


          In spite of the obvious pros of living with my parents (no rent, no pressure, and a fully stocked fridge), I would be taking my financial independence away from myself, which is probably the only form of independence that I currently have. I’ve always been proud of the facts that I moved out at the age of 17, became financially independent of my parents at the age of 19 (my cell phone contract from high school finally ended; and with that, went the last monetary link to my parents), and have lived on my own (with roommates, that is) for most of the last five and a half years (minus a combined total of 19 months at my parents’ or cousins’ houses during the summers between university and the summer following graduation). Wow, my full disclosure via parentheses must be exhausting to read.

          More importantly, I want to fix my friendship with Olivia, if she wants to too (please want to too). I’m making a conscious choice to let go of everything that’s happened in the past, and move forward. However, it is difficult to encourage our friendship to maturely progress when I don’t see her and rarely speak to her. So, deep breath, I’m going to talk to Olivia about coming home. I don’t want to just show up unexpectedly. Imagine, “Surprise! Your best friend (my holding of this title is definitely still TBD, but I’m foolishly hopeful) that you’ve had the pleasure of not living with for the past few weeks is back!” Who needs that? No one.

          Final important decision (I hope) made: There’s no place like home, friends!

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