Being grown up and poorly

I have been living away from home for a long time now, since 2003. There are many advantages and disadvantages of moving away from the shelter of your parents' dwellings.

I loved learning to look after myself: to cook, to wash my clothes, to pay for my own essential items. I liked having that responsibility. Why I couldn't have embraced these tasks when I was actually living at home I do not know, because they would have been a great help to the aforementioned parents, but all I can say in my defense is that it is not uncommon for teenagers to behave in lazy and selfish ways from time to time, and I was no exception.

Away from the nest, friends became the major companions in my life. At uni we ate together, studied together, panicked and suffered and squirmed together. We would party, and we would play at being adults who did things like have dinner parties and that was great. My friends from my year working in Paris were amazing for exploring: we learned so much about the city and each other; countries, languages and people. And London has been such a strange muddle of school friends, college friends, new colleagues and housemates and friends of friends and a massive city mingled in between us all. Strange responsibilities like council tax, gas bills and landlords arose, which I had never had to deal with before... C soon became a part of the mix for a weekend or two each month, and when he visited it was wonderful. He shared the city and the fun, and even the chores with me. Most important, he shared my days, my space and - unusually for me - I didn't mind making room and time for him one bit.

Soon I will be sharing a lot of my space and time with him, and although I am a little daunted, as I have discussed, I am also eagerly anticipating this closeness. It will be the first time I will have lived with someone, rather than just alongside them, since leaving home. On this occasion hopefully most of the traces of teen-laziness will have been washed away by the puddles of experience I've splashed through since 2003.

To go back to my original title, the worst thing I have discovered about living as a independent human being is what happens when you feel unwell. Being queezy at work is horrible, taking the bus when your stomach and head are spinning in different directions is horrendous, and returning to an empty house, where you have to nurse yourself, is so lonely.

This set of circumstances are what happened to me today. I am feeling a lot better now - I have managed to hold down a handful of fishfingers and a small slice of arctic roll so far this evening - but days like these, along with the thankfully infrequent other occasions in the past 6 years when I've been ill, always make me long for my Mum's special care, which consisted of carrying the TV and video up to your bedroom so that you could lie in a poorly stupor under your duvet, marinading in your favourite films, and also, if you were up to it, chicken soup, or some other such remedy.

C did text me from Manchester today to offer to make me soup, but the minor matter of 200 miles was standing in his way. He'll have to wait another couple of weeks before he can have the opportunity to try out his nursing skills. I'll let you know how he compared to Mum.