I was out last night looking at apartments because I’m trying to find a new place to live. Mainly because I hate the place I’m living in; because the people I live with are all at least 5 years older than I am and all live like 5 year olds who can’t pick up for themselves. Their towels have stains from when they dye their hair, their make up bags are riddled with broken pieces of eyeshadow and smudged mascara, they leave their hair in the tub after they have a shower and leave a film in the tub in the process, they smoke in the house and never open a window, they take glasses into their room and wonder why there are never enough glasses to drink out of in the cupboard, they eat popcorn in the sitting room and don’t pick up the pieces that fall on the couch (not in between the couch, on the couch), they only ever watch English/Irish soaps and they talk through anything they watch on TV.
Those are only some of the reasons that I hate living here. And so I’m in search, of a better apartment, and essentially of better flatmates. Which brings me to the cold, winter night that was last night and the difficulty I was facing in getting from one place to another. The public transportation system here is greatly flawed in that not all areas are directly linked, and most times you have to back towards the city centre to get to another area.
Peter knew where I was because he doesn’t like me going out at night on my own, and when he got home he called me to find out where I was and then proceeded to tell me to get off the bus and go into a cafe and wait for him because he was going to come and pick me up. I was perfectly happy travelling to wherever I needed to on my own, but my heart has been soaring ever since. It’s not so much that it reminds me of the reasons why I fell so hard for him in the first place. It’s not so much that deep down I knew he would have come and get me if I had asked. It’s not even that I didn’t have to ask. It’s that it simply was romantic. At least for me.