If you don't know me, you will probably think I sound strange and if you do know me, well, you'll probably think I'm a lot stranger than you already do.
I hate having food in the house.
I also hate furniture.Okay, see, I have this fear of settling down, of staying in one place too long, of not being able to pack up and leave at a moment's notice. Buying furniture - and painting the walls and putting up pictures and decorations and generally making an apartment more comfortable and personal - means you're stuck. You can't put all of your important belongings in the car and drive off.
I know, I know. I've been in this same apartment, same town, for ten years (10, oh my god) and it doesn't look like I'm about to leave any minute.
But I could. I can. I can leave what's here and start new somewhere else. I can put my husband and my ballet slippers and my laptop in the back of the car and just go. Well, maybe Mo doesn't go all the way in the back.
What exactly does this have to do with food and my distaste for having it in the house? You're probably asking yourself. And then quickly following that with, "man, Leigh is seriously deranged."
How could I just leave - or go away for the weekend or shake up my world - if there is food here? It means I can't do what I want when I want or the way I want. Food in the house, like furniture, requires me to make plans and decide where I'll be for a while. Most of the time, I do like plans and I do enjoy a routine but I like the feeling that I don't have to if I choose not to. In other words, I want to choose to be routine, not feel forced to have one.
Is that so strange?