Why Getting a Roommate Will Be The Death of Me

roommateI am a loner. I’ve been called weird for living alone. I’ve been called a loser for wanting to live alone and not socialize with people. I guess when you live alone and spend a majority of your time, tweeting, blogging, and making bad but funny puns, it automatically qualifies you as a weirdo. If I am a loser, so be it. I guess my high school english teacher was correct. I guess he predicted this and the future of being lonely, boring, and one-dimensional. Thank you, Mr. Purple Polo. You know what? Remember that paper you wanted me to write about “why I can’t do homework because I work too much?”  I never wrote it. I had to work and with my dedication to my job and lack of motivation, I decided to not write your stupid paper and opted to make money instead.


The teacher mentioned above never did say I was a loser or anything that left a negative impact on me. He did, however, pick me up and drop me head first into a trashcan. It is possible that calling him old and feeble led to the above incident. Too bad suing your school wasn’t popular back then. I would’ve made some serious cash and bought a shitload of happiness. I don’t know how that even relates to this topic but I wanted to get that secret off my chest. You know how long I have kept that in? Well, shit. It’s been really long and now that I finally admitted to the world that I disobeyed my high school teacher, I can have the relief that when I die, I will rest in peace and not be tormented with the agonizing torture of never being truthful about the paper I failed to write.

I am a loner though. I live alone. I’ve had roommates before. I regret the second roommate. He was okay to live with but he put a huge hole in the wall and the money spent to fix it came from me. He would have paid but he joined the marines and went off to protect us from the evil nations in the middle east. Oddly enough, my first roommate also joined the military. I have joked before that I should work for the military as a recruiter. If they are looking for a hopeful to join, let them live with me and by the year’s end, they’ll be shining boots and cleaning mess halls like a good soldier. I never had very good luck with roommates. I don’t fear they’ll drop everything and fight for our military. I just opted to not have a roommate anymore and now that it has been 3 years of living alone, I can’t tell you how awesome it is to not have someone also residing in your apartment. There is a sense of freedom one gets when they don’t have to worry about bothering or being bothered by another person, even is said person is a really good friend. We are a social bunch of creatures but we do want solitude. I am sure parents are giddy and happy as can be when you’re born. I’m well aware they love you unconditionally and they’ll love you that way till the end. But they pray and pray for the day that all the kids move away and they are alone, free to do what parents do when their children and other prying eyes aren’t around. I don’t know but I think they call that retirement.

That is the life I lead. I have no eyes watching me. I don’t have people all up in my grill when I am trying to watch a marathon of Small Wonder. I can freely watch that adorable, robotic girl get into all sorts of hijinks and not once worry about upsetting someone else. But being alone and away from people and their foul stench of socialization, I inadvertently offered someone to become my roommate. You know what death feels like? It’s sort of like a panic attack. Actually, come to think of it, that moment when I extended out my fist for a binding contract and sealed it with a fist bump, I felt just what Adam and Eve felt when God caught them in the act of eating the forbidden fruit. Knowing that I would be losing freedom, solitude, and pure happiness, I wished death upon me. I’d wish death on my friend but that is a whole can of worms that I’ll get to later.

Just A Bite

 Maybe this “being roomies” is just his way to get close and after I am chopped up, hacked up, and bagged up, he’ll dispose of me and he’ll go back to his apartment, happy and content that he finally rid himself of a truly hateful and mean-spirited person.

There is nothing more relaxing than living alone. I know I already mentioned it before and how fantastic it is to do what you wish. I cannot count the number of times I have arrived home from work and just tossed my shoes, my coat, and other crap on the floor. I took to the couch to relax. I would sit there and watch television. I’ll still be reeking of grease, cat litter, and trash. I could blare my music loudly. I can play One Direction all the way to 11 but not too loud. I don’t want to upset The Ghost of Carlos (I need to talk about him later) or leave an impression on Grandma Judy that I am unworthy of joining her religion cult, the Jehovah Witnesses.  Us, the loners, the sorry excuse for human beings in this social world know very well that living alone and not having the duty of always looking over our shoulders is a blessing. It is far better than you walking in our room unexpected. Move in to our once, private and safe place and we’ll be making sure our doors are locked before we knock boots with our significant others or if we’re just knocking boots alone. Be really uncomfortable having you walk into that.

My days of freedom are over. I can no longer tell people that I live alone. Those happy days are dead. The light inside me has dimmed. Think of any analogy that talks about sadness and that is what I amDepression feeling now. From this day forward, I am going to have to put on facade that I love life and making this decision of getting a roommate was a mistake but a blessing. I ended up getting a roommate. He hasn’t moved in yet but did bring over a toolbox. I was questioning why he called me and asked if it was okay to bring it over. I was envisioning a small toolbox and not the large, behemoth of a toolbox he and I brought inside. I hope my roommate doesn’t have some dark side and will use said tools to murder me while I sleep. I mean, I do egg him on with countless jokes that are not nice and should really just be kept to myself. Maybe when he laughs, he cries inside. Maybe this “being roomies” is just his way to get close and after I am chopped up, hacked up, and bagged up, he’ll dispose of me and he’ll go back to his apartment, happy and content that he finally rid himself of a truly hateful and mean-spirited person. Again, that’s just my imagination running wild. I do that often. It’s a problem. It’s almost as bad as my not thinking before I talk.

There are advantages to having a roommate. I will save money. Cause I like money. That’s a huge bonus. Other things will improve, like when I cook food for myself? It sucks. Not the food. I am a good cook. I am speaking of the serving and portion process. You cannot cook food for one person. It is impossible. Maybe not impossible but I hate leftovers and when I cook spaghetti, I end up using 3/4 of the bag for one meal. I will eat it all just to avoid not having to store that shit in my fridge.  So, yes. Having a roommate will make cooking food easier and the chances of having food tossed into the fridge to be left to spoil will be very slim. There be two advantages. I am sure there are more but if I continue on with these advantages of having a roommate, it will make my argument of living alone moot. I like living alone but maybe a roommate isn’t such a bad thing. Maybe having a real social interaction than just tweeting and hope to have someone reply will serve me well. It may improve my people skills and then maybe when a girl approaches me, I won’t curl up in a ball, suck my thumb, and rock back and forth.

Back to this friend. He moves in this weekend. That leaves me with very little time to enjoy being alone. I had to clean out a room. That room was my office. I never used my office but it was my office. It was a spare room that I used maybe four times since moving here three years ago. Living in a two bedroom apartment and not putting that room to use is silly of me. I should do something with it. I just stuffed a computer in there but never used it. I stuck to my laptop and squatted on the couch to do all my social networking, blogging, and posting copious amounts of bad puns on twitter. The office is empty. When next week arrives, it’ll be his bedroom. I’ll lose my happiness and the feeling of being independent. Why did I agree to this!? Why did I agree to him moving in?

Damn me for not thinking for before I speak.


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I like food. I like the smell of cinnamon.

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