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The Worst Roommate

~ Carie ~ Leave a comment

I need to admit something right now. I am not a good roommate. I detested being a roommate or having a roommate even when delineated in college housing bylaws or by the size of my paycheck in comparison to my mortgage and expenses. I despise the situation because I know I suck at it. I am not fond of other people touching my things or, more important, moving them. I like them where they are—where I left them in the first place. I don’t let people know my exact boundaries, so they think they can get away with anything. This situation ends up at some point with me yelling at them and telling them where they can stick themselves. So. Not good roommate material.

But here I am in a great social experiment. I am requesting to be a roommate. I am asking others to overlook my poor abilities to interact properly in society. I am asking for others to take me in, and what have I learned? I, of all people, can be a decent roommate. Surprise. My mother would be so proud of me. Putting me into preschool decades ago in order to socialize her unsociable daughter finally paid off. It took some thirty odd years, but here I am.

Inside, I question how someone who has spent most of their adult life independent of someone else occupying their personal space could achieve this sort of balance in an uneasy situation. Maybe things work now because I am at that point where you’re too old to care so much about all the little stuff. Who cares if someone eats one of my Fage® yogurts? It’s yogurt. I’ll live. Where was this little bit of bliss in college? Wait. What about before that?

How did my parents make it through my brother and I being in the same household? That is one social experiment for which they might never forgive us. Sorry for all the screaming, Mom. Sorry about our behavior on car trips, Dad. I’m amazed at how you survived with two highly competitive children. I’m amazed we survived. Of course, we were quite amiable when sent to our rooms. Once confined to our own, individual spaces, my brother and I got along. We were lifers outsmarting the warden, but we weren’t outsmarting anyone. We snuck into the hall that separated our rooms and played games. We yelled to each other through the air conditioning vents. We were safe in our own bubbles of the universe, and as long as we were there, we were well behaved.

Maybe that’s it. Maybe I have figured out how to carry that bubble with me—a little piece of a common peace that can live wherever I live. It’s a nice thought.

Seasonal Roommates

~ Carie ~ Leave a comment

I’m homeless.

Strike that. I own a home. It’s a just bit disheveled at the moment due to a “pop up” hail storm last year. That and the fact that the storm gave me the perfect excuse to rip off the back of the house. An awning that looked like a meth addict’s front teeth, a holey roof, coordinating holey siding and eight destroyed windows. Opportunity pounded at my door. Although technically, “opportunity” destroyed my classic 1950’s Sears aluminum awning. A momentary sadness set in until visions of an office, powder bath, and a beautiful new dishwasher danced through my dreams. So, I can’t live in my house right now because it doesn’t have the things necessary for survival in modern society. Things like running water and bathrooms. Luckily, I have friends that are willing to take in a shiftless wanderer like me.

I’ve come to call them my seasonal roommates. I don’t want to overstay my welcome, as they have plans, family obligations, etc. I stay several weeks and move on to the next welcoming guest room. If I had to, I could make the sacrifices necessary in my expenses to rent a temporary residence during this time. I understand minimalism in ways that others do not see in me. I can survive. I will survive. I have been raised to be independent, and I am. I do not ask of others, even when I am in need. But here are friends, some known for only a short time, who are generous and open. In the midst of their own lives, they have welcomed me into their homes and have asked nothing in return. How can that be? We are all financially capable people. We are each strong and independent personalities, but they have brought me in as if family.

I can only ask myself how in any way I have deserved such generosity. A brief image of a bookie’s debit column flashes in my mind, but I shake it off because that idea is wrong. As humans we are wired to be doubtful, superstitious creatures. We seek explanation, as I do in this moment of my life. But do we need answers? In the face of such kindness, the only things I see are beautiful minds and open hearts.