The Meaning of Independence

Well it has finally happened. The construction of the building that will eventually hold my bachelorette pad is finally underway. There are people in hard-hats all over the place. I’m not sure if they are doing anything, but at least they are there.  That is the good news. The bad news is that instead of getting the keys in mid-2016 it is now looking like being November or December instead. Bugger!

I have heard that patience is a virtue. I guess I am not very virtuous then.

When I first signed the contract and paid the deposit back in December 2014, I was glad of the 18 months or so I had ahead of me before I had to move out of Mum and Dad’s. I envisaged I would use this time to squirrel away some funds to go towards my mortgage (which I have done) and I would become the domestic diva I have always wanted to be. (Think Martha Stewart without the jail time). This goal has been a little less successful.

I have come to the conclusion that I hate cooking!  I recently attempted to bake a cake. It was a simple chocolate cake that I decided to jazz up with an entire packet of chocolate chips but the whole ordeal took me more than 2.5 hours from start to finish and I didn’t even decorate it. By the time I was finished I was sweating and panting so much that you would have thought I had done an hour at the gym. Did I mention it was a packet cake?

I can make a mean Vegemite on toast and I am an expert at re-heating leftovers (made by Mum of course) in the microwave. I have been known to make spaghetti Bolognaise (the easiest thing in the world), the odd stir-fry and the occasional soup but if I am really honest I can’t do it unless I have lots of help and it takes a lot out of me when I do. So I have had to admit, as I shall be living on my own (unless I can find a sugar Daddy in the meantime), that I will not be able to cook for myself.

The apartment is going up directly opposite a sporting stadium that also holds big-name concerts on a regular basis. I won’t be able to see the concerts from where I am but no doubt hearing them will not be a problem.  I am however facing the city so until someone builds something to ruin it I will have a pretty good view of the Australia Day Skyshow (it’s on January 26th for anyone who doesn’t know) from my balcony.

I had imagined that my apartment would be constantly filled with friends with whom I could enjoy the aforementioned concerts. We would be doing this whilst devouring the culinary creations I had made myself. Nothing too fancy just cordon bleu or duck a l’orange. You know that sort of thing. They would have even been served by a Butler because that is how I roll (it is also my surname). Obviously this is not going to happen now, Does Dominos do French cuisine?

This will be the first time I will have ever lived alone and despite the delusion I seem to be living under that I can do everything for myself like a “normal” person. I can’t.  This leaves me with two options. 1. Go without and starve while living in a pig-sty or 2. Accept some help.  Being the mature and level-headed woman I am, I choose the latter.

This does not mean I plan to get Mum to stock my freezer or do my washing. Especially given the amount of stick I gave my brother for bringing his washing home to Mum to do every weekend when he first moved out, (yes he had a washing machine and no he doesn’t do it anymore). It means I am going to use the many resources available to me.

I have always had an aversion to the term “carer”. I always thought that having a carer made someone an invalid and if you needed help to do anything then you were not really living independently.  I have since come to realise that independence is being able to do what you want/need to do whenever you want/need to do it. So I have started researching.

By coincidence I received an advert for Home Chef (a meal delivery service) in the mail yesterday which is a viable option. Whether it is a palatable one remains to be seen.

Thankfully I can do my own personal care (showering, hair etc.) so that is not going to be a problem.  I already have a “carer” (who is more like a friend I hang out with) that takes me shopping or to appointments if I am unfamiliar with the venue so that is no problem either, and for all other transport needs I have a merry band of taxi drivers to choose from. I am fairly domesticated when it comes to cleaning (thank God for dishwashers and robotic vacuum cleaners) but if I find that cleaning becomes a struggle I can get in-home help for that too.

The trick is for me to recognise and (more importantly) admit when I need help and not to struggle if I do not have to. This does not mean I shall be lazy though as I am a big believer in the saying “use it or lose it”.

If I play my cards right I could end up with a lot of free time on my hands. The question is what to do with it.

Base-jumping anyone?

XOXO

Advertisements

One thought on “The Meaning of Independence

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s