August 2, 2010
I need to start packing up my apartment so that I can move at the end of the month.
And by “can move” I mean “be economically forced out of the best apartment ever into a 5th floor walk-up 2 bedroom”. That’s right. I’m getting a roommate. I am going to have to live with a girl. I haven’t lived with a girl since 2002. And I, for one, am NOT looking forward to it.
My roommate, on the other hand, is waiting for me to move in with bated breath. We can share clothes! And food! And we’ll never have to be alone because we’ll be living together!
But, um, I looooove being alone. I’m pretty good at it. I like not answering to anyone, coming home and making noise if I feel like it. Going to bed at 7pm. Doing my homework in the living room. Leaving dishes in the sink. Laundry on my bed. My decorations. My stuff. My clothes. My food.
I worked so hard to be independent after my divorce that this seems like a massive move in the wrong direction. Financially necessary, but emotionally painful. Here I am, at 27, getting a roommate. I feel like I’m about to mourn the loss of some major freedoms, and can’t help but wonder what I would have thought of this situation a few years back.
While I love my roommate, there are two ways I’d like to be living right now, and that’s a)alone or b)with someone who I have sex with.
And no, boys, I’m not having sex with her.