I cannot wait to live again in a place where there is no television. I can't wait to live in a place where there isn't a dog or cat to run away or shed hair all over my clothes or pee on my bed while I'm away and the house sitter is evidently not around enough. I can't wait to live somewhere where the spoon jar only contains spoons and the fork jar only forks and the knife jar only knives, where the mugs aren't stacked so crazily that they teeter or come crashing down when the cabinet door opens. I can't wait to live somewhere without a yard to mow and without gutters that fill constantly with leaves. I can't wait to someday have a car that's less than ten years old, that runs, and that circulates oil and radiator and possibly even transmission fluid, rather than vomiting them onto the ground. I can't wait to get out of debt. To figure out or stumble into whatever it is that I'm supposed to be doing with my life.
On a scale of 1-15, how selfish am I? That's not a trick question. Pretty selfish, I'm guessing.