I just want to live my life. Is that too much to ask? I want to be able to spread my books out on the kitchen table whenever I feel like it, and turn the radio up loud. I want to be able to have coffee whenever I want, and being able to make it in peace, without my mother clattering around the kitchen. I want to be able to go on the laptop whenever I fell the need to. I want to be able to sit and watch the television in a charming (i.e. not necessarily professionally designed) living room without my brother running around the room playing football or swinging his arms in a tennis-like fashion. I want to be able to walk out the door, lock it with my keys, and walk to the shop, or to town, or to a bus stop, and go where I want to when I want to. I want to be able to go to bed when I feel like it and not have to be creeping around quietly when the old/young fogies are sleeping. I want to have friend(s) to talk to about stuff that I care about, and things that are of interest to other my age. I want to be able to get up in the morning and do things in the order I want and just have a coffee for breakfast if that’s what I want. Or toast. Or a sandwich. Or biscuits. Or cereal. I want to be able to have as little lights as possible on, and listen to 2FM or RedFM or TodayFM. I want to be able to invite friends over whenever I feel lonely, or whenever I want a bit of a laugh. I want to not have to plan evenings in so far in advance so that everyone fits into my plans. I want to be able to have parties when I’m in the moood, and I want to be able to go out and not have to tell anyone where I’m going. I want to be able to walk down the street and not have to check my watch and rush here or there to be home on time. I want to have to do my own shopping and cooking and washing and cleaning. I want to be independent and free, but never alone.