THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, September 29, 1996 TAG: 9609250041
SECTION: REAL LIFE PAGE: K3 EDITION: FINAL
COLUMN: REAL MOMENTS
SOURCE: BY KENNAN NEWBOLD, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: 62 lines
WHEN I MOVED into my new apartment last month, I thought it meant independence and freedom. I thought living alone meant cleaning the bathroom at 2 a.m. without an explanation and not having to do the dishes every night if I wasn't in the mood.
But during this first month of my so-called independence, I've decided living alone means something totally unexpected - boredom.
I suppose, for some, the quiet of an empty apartment is peaceful. After a long day at work, solitude can, indeed, be a gift. But for someone who grew up in a family of six, in a household of constant visitors and a menagerie of animals - someone like me - solitude is also a curse.
The irony of it all is this: When I was in high school, I spent 90 percent of my time at home in my bedroom, alone. I'd spend hours in there, content to do nothing more than a few math problems or talk on the phone to friends two houses away.
Now, six years later, the room is a little bigger. The math problems are gone, but not much else has changed. Except now, being alone is no fun at all.
There are no brothers or sisters around to ignore, no pets to smuggle into bed at night, no reason to sneak out of the house in the middle of the night.
In high school, this situation would have put me in Seventh Heaven. Now I'm thankful that my prayers of ``Please, God, make me an only child'' weren't answered. Today, if my brothers and sister didn't come visit me, nobody would.
Other things have changed too. It's not nearly as fun to sing in the shower now as it was when I lived at home. Then, singing in the shower - as loud and as long as I could - was the perfect way to annoy my little brother who always found ways to annoy me.
Fixing dinner isn't fun either because there's no one around to share it. The deck of cards on my dresser has only been used to play solitaire, and the messages scribbled on the chalkboard in the kitchen are simply messages to myself.
Funny thing is, I often find myself rushing back to my apartment after work or telling friends that ``I have to get back home'' for no reason at all. Just last Saturday, I left a perfectly good party to go home, sit on my couch and wonder what to do until bedtime.
On one especially boring night, I broke open my phone book and started calling old friends. Old boyfriends even. I talked on the phone long-distance for over $50. The next night I ironed all my clothes and rearranged the magnets on my refrigerator a gazillion times.
I tried, for a while, to stay away from my apartment for as long as I could each day, hoping that I'd be so tired when I finally got home that I'd go straight to bed, leaving no time to get bored. I'd go to the gym after work or out to dinner with friends. But it didn't work.
For some strange reason, I always wanted to come home.
My younger sister, Meghan, can't believe I live alone. She vows never to be so brave. ``Aren't you scared sometimes at night?'' she asked me once.
Yes. Sometimes I'm scared, but not of things that go bump in the night. I'm scared that I'll always be in such need of company. I worry that I'll be alone and, worst of all, bored forever.
I feel better in the morning though, after a bowl of cereal that I leave empty in the sink and an undisturbed shower.
And that's usually when I feel like singing. MEMO: Kennan Newbold lives in Norfolk, where she shares her apartment
with a 9-week-old German Shepherd. by CNB