On my own

Since I turned 18 and got my first roommate, I couldn't wait to live a roommate-less existence. When I moved to grad school, I spent two wild and glorious years alone. But finances forced me back into getting a roommate. I was terrified. I still had oats to sow! (Sowing oats= watching Buffy marathons in the buff or dipping a spoon into peanut butter and then rolling it in chocolate chips. You know, the kind of stuff you can't do when someone is watching.)


Now my roomie is gone for two weeks and after 3 days of more oat sowing (in this case, it means burning food and not worrying about who else is going to inhale those sweet charcoaly carcinogens) I find that living by myself is not as much fun as I remember.


First, my roomie never cares if I don't want to wear clothes. In fact, she encourages it.


Second, when the lights go off while I'm in the shower, no one is there to protect me from the woman in black.


Third, if I forget to feed the fish, he will die.


Fourth, there is no one to blame for anything! Whose mess is this? Mine. Who used all the hot water smartly washing clothes before taking a shower? Me. Who ate this entire bag of chocolate chips? (Well, Kristen and I agree that this is never either of us. It is the work of the frequent and elusive chocolate-thieves. Though I'm sure they needed them to coat a peanut butter-dipped spoon.)