Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Just me in the morning

After living on my own for six years, and after numerous projects of P abroad, there's one thing I'm still not used too. One thing I hate. And that's being alone in the morning. Waking up in an empty house.
I don't care about the evenings, I'm not scared at night. No issues there. But that alarm clock going off, followed by the realization that there's nobody there but me....ugh.

The first year I lived in my flat, I used to call my mom every morning at 7. Next victim was a very good friend, who was stuck in traffic every morning anyway, so at least once a week, we had our morning rendez-vous on the phone. P was also on my morning-call list. And the radio had to be turned on the moment I stepped into the kitchen to ban the silence (I also had one in my bathroom).

Some habits have remained. Home alone means radio in the morning. Means calling someone at an ungodly hour. And lenghty breakfast-talks with the hamster if she's still awake.
One more morning to go - and then parents, friends and hamster can have quiet mornings again.

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