Day 2: Worse Than I Thought It Would Be

I hate having to compromise
and people tell me hate is a strong, strong word.
So I’ll start again:
I like to do things in my own way and time.
I like the freedom of a locked door and an empty evening.
I like my things, I like my little stashes, I like my secret pleasures.
I hate sharing blankets and beds.
When I was younger, I used to share beds with my sisters on road trips and vacations.
One of them talks in her sleep,
the other one kicks,
and I’m probably pretty bad too
but at least I’m asleep for it.
Then again, it wasn’t ever as bad as I thought it would be.
Because I love my sisters endlessly.
Unconditionally.
I like being alone in the kitchen. Just me and the stove.
I like to sing at the top of my lungs and not worry about anyone saying anything.
I like having space in the bathroom vanity for my toothbrush
And my conditioner
And my bath bombs
And my floss
And my Band-aids
And And And.
Sometimes I wonder how I became this way, crouched over my life like a giant jungle cat.
I wonder how I came to clutch myself so tightly in my big, fumbling, velvety claws.
Sometimes I want to tell myself, “It’s probably okay to let go. No one will take it from you.”
But in the middle of the night
With an elbow to the ribs
And snores in the dark
And a cold ocean of space between us, I thought
“Well.
This is worse than I thought it would be."