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reality

Living with a Roommate vs. Living Alone: Lists

The following is transcribed from the original post on Word Press.

Backstory is relatively unnecessary if I hope to keep your attention, so I’ll keep it short. By the other side of summer in 2015, I will be living alone for the first time in my entire life. I have always either lived with my parents, among friends, or with a roommate. The last two years of my life, it has been the latter. Due to circumstances, the current roommate and I will be parting ways once this lease is up. As much as I do not like being alone, I have always had rich, sensory fantasies about being so independent that nothing was the jurisdiction of another person. Everything happened on my time, my way, because no one else had a hand in the sustainability of my livelihood. The following is a list of Now vs. Then, to help me itemize the fearful experience that is preparing for being alone in a living space for the first time in my entire life.

What I Will Miss About Living with a Roommate


  • Shared expenses.

Oh, shit, was that it? Very well then.

What I Have to Gain From Living Alone


  • Reign over every inch of the house.

  • Government over electricity and plumbing usage.

  • A sink full of dirty dishes and no fucks to give.

  • A fridge and pantry full of organic, whole, vegan foods.

  • My own furniture.

  • My own dishes, cookware, and cutlery.

  • A place for everything, and everything in a place.

  • A living room full of the stuff I just don’t fuckin’ feel like storing in my room.

  • Black clothes and no cat hair.

  • Furniture and no cat hair.

  • Towels and no cat hair.

  • Electronics and no cat hair.

  • A cat hair free existence.

  • A lint roller free existence.

  • My nail polish all over the coffee table.

  • My bike propped against a different wall every day of the week.

  • A mailbox full of mail and no obligation to check it.

  • A spare key for my ex/buddy, for emergencies.

  • A tray of decorate stones by the door where motherfuckers put their shoes.

  • Never again a whiff of cigarette smoke in my smoke-free house.

  • Naked time, all the time.

  • No cat box smell.

  • No cat cat box litter.

  • No fucking cat box.

  • My friends over. And over. And over again.

  • A carefully sectioned off “safe space” for the dogs, so they don’t have to be kenneled while I’m not home.

  • My TV. Just mine. Fuck off, I’m watching Buffy.

  • No fucking lights left on.

  • Bills paid on time, every time.

  • One less contact in my phone.

  • One less compulsion to keep peace.

  • One less thing.

  • One more thing.

  • EVERYTHING.

My independence.