Never Home

I arrived at my apartment door today to find a pile of newspapers and a notice from the management, warning me that someone in our building has been making disruptive noise after quiet hours, and risked eviction.  "Well, it's not me," I thought, pulling the notice down.  "I'm never home."

This week has been particularly challenging in this regard.  Chuck and I usually stay at my place on Tuesday and Thursday nights; but this week, Chuck needed to pick up his friend from the airport late at night on Tuesday; and then he became ill.  I haven't wanted to disrupt him.  So, I have been staying at Aloha Road all week, only visiting my apartment to pick stuff up and drop stuff off.  This morning, Chuck wanted to know if we would stay at my place, but I declined.  We usually spend weekends at Aloha when we I don't have custody of my kids.  And he is still pretty stick.  I heard myself telling him that I far preferred staying at Aloha, and that I didn't like being at my apartment. 

I don't know why I said that. I actually DO like being at my apartment.  It's tiny, but it's clean and neat.  All my favorite pictures are on the wall.  I am surrounded by books I want to read, music I want to listen to.  I know what food I have and it's all food I like.  I never have to search in vain for the lid that goes with a particular pot. However, it is quiet and dull.  I never entertain there, because it is too damn small.  And it's far from my job and from Chuck.  Aloha, on the other hand,  is dirty and I feel like I am always cleaning the kitchen.  There is not a single place where I can read at night without having to turn on a whole ceiling full of indirect light.  BUT, it always has people.  At the moment, it appears that four to six  people may live there.  Someone is always around and I enjoy that.  It has little luxuries:  a fireplace; a sauna.  Cliff's dog and Chuck's cockatoo.  So, which place is better?  For a sociable person like me, Aloha is more pleasant, but super-inconvenient.  If someone has to be inconvenienced, I would always prefer that it be me rather than Chuck.   However, I have to haul clothes and books and whatnot back and forth.  If I want to cook something, I have to pack up all the ingredients and haul  this stuff up to Aloha.  Sometimes, I arrive with bags and bags of food.  It's ridiculous.  At my own place, I never wonder whether there will be cinnamon. 

The deal is that, with Chuck and me, someone always has to be away from home. 
There is no way to make this any easier.  I got home today and walked into an apartment that reeked of garbage because, when I last left, I didn't realize I would be gone so long. The clothes I had loaded into the drier were still a little damp and smelled of mildew.  I felt weak and ill because I had slept poorly the night before and hadn't eaten.  I poured some cereal.  The milk was whiffy, of course.

I flopped on the bed and covered myself with my afghan.  I slept deeply for a couple of hours. 

What to do about this? Would it really make my life easier to have a couple of changes of clothing at Chuck's? Nah.  I would still have to keep replacing them after I wore them home. Or, what?  Change again before I leave?  What about food and cooking utensils?  I haul stuff like books back and forth.  Yesterday's newspapers.  My plum pudding mould.  Toenail polish.  Stuff I forget to haul back and forth:  underwear, my glasses, Creamies.