About Roommates

Sometimes I miss having a roommate. The idea is scary on many levels, considering my behavior towards some past roommates, the strain I sometimes feel even when spending long periods of time with family, and my hatred of moving. 

Back when I first moved to my current apartment, in October of 2001, my boss said, "You're screwing yourself over by living alone...if you ever get married, you'll be thinking 'What's that person doing in my space?'" He's right, not just about getting married but about sharing space with anybody. As my pastor once said, "When you live alone, you become more and more like yourself"--and not always in good ways. 

I'd be a pretty particular roommate. I don't mind a mess as long as it's mine. I don't mind company except when I want alone time. I don't mind cats or dogs as long as they aren't living with me. My current roommate, while beautiful, is also loud, jealous, spoiled, and sometimes violent, and he and I are a package deal.

So there are a lot of obstacles to me having a roommate. But then I remember high points, like dancing around the living room to Enya (and to the great amusement of our neighbor across the courtyard), or talking about anything at any time, or having somebody know and care where I was (some because of the posted schedules and some because they memorized them), or having somebody tell me when I was being a jerk and realizing after half an hour or so of pouting that she was right, or hearing the downpour outside and having somebody right there who also wanted to go run around in the parking lot.

Those parts I wouldn't mind having again someday.