No, it's none of that.
The truth is, the reason you always get to the shower first, always have first use of the kettle, watch whatever you like on TV and could sit on all three of your seating options if you so desired all comes down to one fact: You are, most definitely, completely alone.
By you in this story I obviously mean me. I've been living in my shiny, unusually pristine apartment on my todd since the first signs of summer began to emerge in the sky, and at first I loved it. I enjoyed waking up and having the freedom to stroll into my kitchen skin bare, make a cup of tea and watch early morning rubbish without feeling any sense of guilt or embarrassment. I quite going to work, safe in the knowledge that when I come back the place would still be as polished and tidy as when I left it. The only mess would be my mess, and I don't do mess. Not often. I liked being able to flick through the multitude of channels available at my finger tips before settling on something questionably distasteful and enjoying it with copious amounts of diet coke, free from the risk of judgement or lowering anyone's opinions of me. All of this was a nice weight off my shoulders.
However, times change. In the early few weeks I still had friends about to visit, to go out with, to invite round for caffeine. If I got bored I simply picked up a phone and something fun would doubtless happen. The time spent on my own was minimal compared to the time I spent with company and my beanbags and brightly coloured carpet were often the scene of the sort of trivial banter and gossip that I thrive upon. I was happy. Happier than I'd been in a while, really. Then that happiness stopped.
Over the space of a few days all those that had been part of the afore mentioned trivial banter and gossip began to filter away. One by one they left for pastures new, resulting in the drastic thinning out of the circle of friends I'd spent the last three years gathering. Like an end of season cull, where your recently relegated team release nearly all of their players and you're left with one youth striker who has only the one league goal to his name. I was that striker.
I wasn't annoyed that I was left behind. Not really. I'd made the choice myself to stick out the grey skies and chewing gum covered streets of the city I'd grown up near and I was excited about what the next few months had in store. Whilst a year ago I would have been incredibly envious had I known my friends were off to the bright lights of the capital while I stayed behind, now it made sense. I was staying behind for something I wanted to do more than anything I'd ever wanted to do before. This did not bother me.
What did bother me was how quickly the freedom of being alone can turn into awful, deafeningly quiet isolation.
I stood at my window and watched as my final two comrades departed, and that was when it sank in.
This was life now. At least for the foreseeable future.
Soon someone else will move in and I'll likely crave the silence once again. But for now I long for company. I long to get to the bathroom second and have to wait. I want there to be not enough water in the kettle. I want there to be something on the TV that I don't like.
In an ideal world, in an ideal situation, company and friendship would be the car. It would be the chassis, the engine, the wheels. It would get you from A to B.
Solitude would be the optional extra. Fluffy dice are nice once in a while, but if you have to live with them, they'll eventually get in the way.