When I was in college, I had a roommate my freshman and sophomore years. I have no idea where my frosh roommate, Ashir Wahab, is right now, but I bet he’s a doctor someplace. I have fond memories carrying bunk beds from the basement dorm rooms into our third floor room for added space and watching Behind the Green Door in our room full of guys and just one girl. My sophomore year roommate was a guy I became friends with my freshmen year, but after I pledged we never really became anything other than roommates.
My junior and senior year of undergraduate college life, I had a single. That is, I had a double dorm room, but I managed to get out of having a roommate. I gave away the bunk beds and did all sorts of arrangements with my two single beds and two desks. My senior year I even had a love seat. This sounds pretty tame by today’s standards, but back in the stone age of the late 80s it was the epitome of cool.
When I moved out of my parent’s house, I lived alone in a great one bedroom apartment. I moved out of this place after I got married and started living with someone for the first time in a long time.
The marriage didn’t last and I was back to living alone punctuated by visits from my daughter during weekends. I’ve realized I’ve been living alone for over ten years and, I guess, I like it that way.
My place is totally my place. It isn’t an “our” place. I don’t have a “man-cave.” If I want to have a framed poster of KISS in my bedroom… it’s there. If I want to showcase my collection of original sketches or signed comic books… they’re on the wall. I get to watch whatever I want on my TV. If I want to leave my kitchen a mess… it’s a mess. There’s no “honey-do” list. There’s no harping because I slept until noon on a Sunday. I don’t get grief because I bought a new DVD or a book. I don’t have a joint bank account.
To use Cartman’s phrase, “I do what I want!”
Living with someone else means a massive amount of compromise. Does the good outweigh the bad? For most people, it certainly does. Being in a relationship and living under the same roof means everything turns into an “ours” instead of a “mine.” Being alone means I can be selfish and nobody can call me on it.
However, every once in a while, when I’m feeling particularly lonely or depressed… when I’m under the covers and it’s 3 am and I can’t sleep… when I smile at the antics of my married friends… I kinda wish I wasn’t all by myself.
Every once in a while…