As a widower, especially one of the "under-thirty" variation, I'm facing something I thought I was going to avoid for most of my life: living alone. Don't get me wrong, I'm still happily mooching off my parents for room and board at present. But that can't last. I started dating my wife when I was 15, and literally have never lived without her or my folks (unless you count the two marking periods I spent in a college dorm before my 'leave of absence').
The worst part is, though not solely, I've lived with myself before. So I know all my gross, annoying habits. I've just always either had to hide them (as with my parents) or deal with negative reactions (from my wife). But this time, it's just gonna be me, and I'm not looking forward to dealing with my bullshit. I've thought about looking for a roommate, but I don't want to subject a stranger, or worse, a somebody I like, to 24 x 7 x 365 of me. Hell, I don't wanna be stuck with me: that guy is always moping and bitching about his dead wife, ugh.
I do want to challenge myself to take care of myself by myself, truth told. But I'm seriously dreading the loneliness. I'm already lonely, and I don't expect it'll improve once I leave my parents' house again. The only ray of sunnyunnyshine is my cats (not the most masculine of statements, but I digress [I swear, 'wife' refers to a woman {I don't judge anyone, don't judge me}]). Though they aren't much for conversation, my cats are better than solitary confinement. And they like me. My cats probably tolerate me better than I do myself, if only because I am The One Who Controls Food & Poobox, and I give acceptable chin-scritches.
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