Missing my flat

Putting it out to rent was the hardest thing. Getting the keys to my flat a year and a bit ago was one of the high points of the last 5 years of my life. It felt like... progress, in a dyed-in capitalistic sort of way. Two bedrooms, a bathroom and shower room, my own entryphone, a lounge long enough to turn three cartwheels... and a lighting scheme perfected only after much experimentation and expenditure at Ikea. Now, with economy forced onto me by the financial limitations of my hiatus, I am living at home whilst a Colombian couple (lovely people) make their nest in my tree.

Home is not so bad, and should not be so. My parents go out of their way to accommodate my independence, and I have adopted circadian rhythms that minimise the risk of bathroom conflict. Inevitably, however, there is sensation of imprisonment.