the chance to be a kid again

So it seems like every six months, something majorly weird happens in my shitty apartment (from which I keep meaning to move out, but I have not yet found a nice place in Houston that I can afford which will not have me fearing being shot after sundown. If anyone knows of anything, I'm all ears.). One year the water-heater broke and I had to take cold showers for a week, which makes it sound like maybe I was trying to subdue my powerful sexual attraction to someone. It really wasn't all that sexy. Then one August my a/c broke, which was a nightmare, because I am notorious for my complete intolerance of the heat and like to keep my apartment at a cool 66 degrees. (Global warming isn't all assholes in Hummers, guys. Mostly it's spoiled princesses like yours truly. I make up for it by never turning the heat on.) And then there was the five-month span when my garbage disposal didn't work, and my repeated entreaties to the maintenance people went unanswered. That really hindered my primary method of relaxation: baking.

But now, it's like all of that has teamed up into one super problem. The power to my apartment is . . . half-assed? The lights flicker and fade; the computer reboots itself every five minutes, and none of my major appliances - or anything that takes more than 40 watts of power, it seems - will work. Air conditioning, washer/dryer, water heater, stove . . . nada. Which is inconvenient, at best, and really effing miserable, at worst.

I'm lucky enough that my parents live close to where I work, so I can stay in my old bedroom instead of couch-surfing at my friends' places. (In actuality, the surfing would be minimal. I'd show up on Matt and Mere's doorstep with my cherry pie pjs and the X-Files dvds and demand to sleep on their couch. I would perhaps make them cupcakes as compensation. Being my friend is a constant trial, I assure you.) And while the idea of spending what has now become the fifth night in a row at my parents' house might seem lame, I'm actually really enjoying the break from responsibility. Every morning, I wake up and wander out to the kitchen that I didn't have to clean, flip through the paper I didn't have to subscribe to, shuffle off to shower in the bathroom with the fancy, fluffy towels that I can't afford . . . are you sensing a pattern? And then, when I get home from checking on my kitties and spending as much time as I can stand petting them (it's okay; at about 78 degrees, the apartment's not too hot for the kitties. It's just too hot for me.), I get dinner that I didn't have to cook or buy. Why did I ever move out? Being a kid again is great!

To be honest, I'm already chomping at the bit to be back in my own place (going on day four of urgent phone calls to apt mgmt - nothing has yet been accomplished), as I'm at heart a bit of a loner and I don't like sharing my personal space. But still, a sense of peace has slipped over me the last few days, a calmness which comes from not having to take care of everything in my life, of knowing that, when I need to lean, I've got people to lean on. That's pretty special.

It could be the increased melatonin from the blistering sunburn talking, though.

So while I hope and pray (and plan to go to my apt on my lunch hour tomorrow and kick ass personally if I have to) that they'll have the wiring sorted by tomorrow, I've enjoyed these few stolen days of carefree living. It turned out to be just what I needed to recharge after the hectic month I've had.

Which leads me to today's question: what's the one adult responsibility that you have that you hate? What one thing would you love to give over to someone else and wipe your hands of completely? If I had to pick just one, I'd say vacuuming. I have to do it every day because I'm allergic to my cats, and if I could just have someone take over that one chore, I'd be so much happier. You?