Yesterday morning, I took my sister to the airport for her fifth annual trip to Cambodia. She goes each year with a mission group from her church to visit an orphanage there. (It’s not a proseltizing-type trip; the orphanage is attached to a church already.) They spend a lot of time with the kids, and near the end of the trip, they’ll go to Angkor Wat and some other touristy areas.
What this all means for me (because of course it’s all about ME) is that I have nine long, glorious days without a roommate.
(Okay, not really.)
For much of my adult life, I’ve lived alone. I moved into my first apartment in 1991, and for most of the next 17 years, I didn’t have a roommate. Then my sister moved to Atlanta to go to graduate school, and she moved in with me to save money. We’ve been roomies ever since.
In the spring, we’ll be splitting up, in one form or another. Sister has a very serious boyfriend, and they’ll likely be getting married some time next year, so we’d been talking about getting separate places when our lease is up in March. I was just starting to think about the possibility of living alone again, and then my good friend J.P. Barnaby said she wanted to move to Atlanta and wondered if I might want to room together.
As it turns out, yes, I did. Sure, I lived alone for a long time and I liked that, but over the past 7 years, I’ve gotten used to having someone around. I’m mostly a homebody, but I like being social too, so having a roommate is the best of both worlds.
(Plus, J.P. says she’ll be in charge of emptying the dishwasher. I hate emptying the dishwasher.)
So over the next few months, I’ll be scoping out possible new places to live, my sister and I will be figuring up how to divide up our things (the fannish collections are going to be tough, man), and the new roomie and I will be deciding what we need to keep, toss, or buy. Spring cleaning will take on a whole new meaning when it consists of clearing out old spaces and settling into new ones.
But for the next week, I’ll enjoy having the place to myself. Maybe I’ll dance naked after all. Or maybe I’ll just drink milk straight from the carton and eat the last of the ice cream.
My life is just full of excitement, isn’t it?