Ever since my first year of college (1995), I've enjoyed being by myself. Before that, I reveled in being with people all the time. I had good friends, a boyfriend, and a close family, so I seemed to always be with people, very rarely alone. That first quarter of college was like being dunked in an ice bath; I had only two friends - my very strange roommate and a guy from high school - both of whom were very busy with school and jobs, so I never saw them. My boyfriend and I broke up. My family lived hours away. It was hard adjusting to so much time by myself.
Once I adjusted, though, I adjusted! I loved being alone - I craved being alone. I went to movies by myself, ate at Olive Garden by myself (I always imagined meeting a handsome Italian who was visiting and who, naturally, fell madly in love with me), walked all around town by myself. I mean, I had friends and roommates that I did things with, but I spent a lot of time alone. It was good for my soul.
My mission challenged me. Spending 24/7 with someone had it's good points (always had someone to tell my nightly dreams to), and luckily I had some good mission companions who made it easy to spend so much time with them. However, there were times I thought I'd explode if I didn't get time to myself. My first apartment's bathroom light was connected to a fan - if you turned on the light, you turned on the fan, too. It became my sactuary. I'd go in there to read, to think, to pretend to be alone, even though someone was just beyond the door. A couple weeks before I came home, I dreamed that I got to drive home from my mission, from Montreal to Utah. I stopped somewhere along the way and hung out at a park. I sat on a blanket on the grass (I'm allergic to grass even in my dreams) by a little stream and watched parents and kids play, enjoying the sunny Spring day. I basked in being alone. I woke up depressed.
My last roommate was one of my best friends (to clarify: she still is one of my best friends, she was my roommate). Looking back, I have a lot of regrets. I didn't realize it at the time, but I was at the point where I needed to live alone. We still had good times and stayed best of friends, but I wish I could go back and be a better roommate than I was. Fortunately, she was really patient with me. Thank you and sorry!!!
I've now lived on my own for over a year and frankly, I love it. I even loved it when I lived in my teeny tiny studio, but I love it ten million times more now that I have so much space! The kitchen is all my own to do with what I will; a fridge all to myself, no guilt when I leave the dishes in the sink until I get home from work, no sharing of kitchen toys. Sigh. I love it. I love being able to walk around my home looking ugly and not caring because who's going to see me? I get a lot of alone time. Aaaaaahhhhh.
So, I feel like I'm selling my soul. Tonight, I'm getting a roommate. Well, tonight and tomorrow she is moving in her stuff, but she's not planning on staying there until Sunday night. She's a nice girl, 21 years old, a senior in college, engaged, cute, and...well, nice. I chose her because she's engaged - she says she spends a lot of time at her fiance's house AND next summer she's getting married, so will move out. I don't really like the idea of kicking someone out, but I don't want a roommate that would stay for an indefinite time period. And, she's nice. We don't have a lot in common, which is good - I'm not looking for a best buddy. I bet we'll get along, though. It will just be strange to have someone living there with me. When I start to fret, I think of the money and what I plan to do with it.
See? I'm selling my soul.