Roomie
Have I mentioned that I’m living alone again, now? I am. My boyfriend (J) has moved out and several states away for a job. The plan is for me to follow, but not just yet. Consequently, we’re doing the long-distance thing. So far we’ve managed to have a chat every night. I use my cell phone for all of my long distance calls, so throw in a few visits with family members, and my cell phone bill was about 3 times what it previously has been. J gets a better deal, and a better paycheck, so lately he’s been calling me on the landline. Hey Verizon – can you hear me now?
It was hard at first, adjusting to daily life without him. We’d been living together (officially) for 2 years, and you can tack on maybe 6 months of unofficial living together prior to that. You know, the whole “have a drawer at each other’s places” type thing going on. He’d always had roommates, and I had been living alone.
You get used to having someone around. They become part of your routine, expected, dependable, and ultimately taken for granted. After he left, there was a palpable hole. The apartment felt empty (though I was the one with the majority of the furniture). My social life felt decimated, my playmate and best friend were gone (not that we were attached at the hip). I had gaps in my daily routine where he used to fit (and I’m pretty anal, so that did NOT go over well). I won’t say that I fear change, I just don’t particularly like it. Especially when it’s not in a controlled situation – like, say, a vacation – when you know you can go back home to things familiar. Everything feels slightly askew, out of sorts, off center. It’s not disastrous, but it’s certainly uncomfortable.
The last couple weeks have been better. I’ve gotten back into my groove of living alone, remembering what I’d liked about it before. Like I said, I’d lived alone before moving in with J, and I had LOVED it. After having had roommates in college, and a roommate for another year after that, I was ecstatic to have my own place. I could go to bed and get up when I wanted to, without worrying about putting a damper on my night owl roommates, or creeping around quietly in the morning. I could brown beef without nauseating a vegetarian roommate. Leftovers didn’t mysteriously disappear in the night. When I cleaned my apartment, it was to my standards (which could change at my whim), and it actually stayed clean! As I mentioned before, I’m anal, so this was supremely satisfying and comforting to me. No one likes to come home from a stressful day at work to a messy apartment. For me, it just perpetuates the stress.
Anyway, despite being reunited with all of these good things about living alone, there’s been a slightly disturbing development. My new roommate is the TV. We have a standing date every Friday night for a series of my favorite shows. If I’m home, the TV is on. If the TV’s not on, the radio is, or I’m on the phone. We fall asleep together at night (whoever invented the sleep function for TVs was a GENIUS).
I just need to have something making noise, so I don’t feel quite so alone. And I’ve started talking to myself, or the TV. Not constantly, (no need to worry about my sanity, I swear) but here and there. Usually some smart remark that I would have said to make J laugh. As you can imagine my wit is so sharp, I just have to let it out whether I have an audience or not.
Most of the time I’m not really even paying attention to what’s on the TV. Part of that is also due to my disappointment with cable TV. I have about 75 channels, and more often than I’d like, I can’t find anything I want to watch. Maybe I just have tastes that are too particular, or the majority of popular TV is crap. Whatever. TV and I are not going to break-up. The “It’s not you, it’s me” line just wouldn’t work. The handful of shows that I do like, I am addicted to. They make the cable bill worth the cost. Still, I’m starting to feel bad about always having the same answer to “Hey Babe, whatcha doin’?” when J calls. “Watchin’ TV and _____” [insert some form of work, chore or diversion here]. This time I could say “Watchin’ TV and blogging.”
It was hard at first, adjusting to daily life without him. We’d been living together (officially) for 2 years, and you can tack on maybe 6 months of unofficial living together prior to that. You know, the whole “have a drawer at each other’s places” type thing going on. He’d always had roommates, and I had been living alone.
You get used to having someone around. They become part of your routine, expected, dependable, and ultimately taken for granted. After he left, there was a palpable hole. The apartment felt empty (though I was the one with the majority of the furniture). My social life felt decimated, my playmate and best friend were gone (not that we were attached at the hip). I had gaps in my daily routine where he used to fit (and I’m pretty anal, so that did NOT go over well). I won’t say that I fear change, I just don’t particularly like it. Especially when it’s not in a controlled situation – like, say, a vacation – when you know you can go back home to things familiar. Everything feels slightly askew, out of sorts, off center. It’s not disastrous, but it’s certainly uncomfortable.
The last couple weeks have been better. I’ve gotten back into my groove of living alone, remembering what I’d liked about it before. Like I said, I’d lived alone before moving in with J, and I had LOVED it. After having had roommates in college, and a roommate for another year after that, I was ecstatic to have my own place. I could go to bed and get up when I wanted to, without worrying about putting a damper on my night owl roommates, or creeping around quietly in the morning. I could brown beef without nauseating a vegetarian roommate. Leftovers didn’t mysteriously disappear in the night. When I cleaned my apartment, it was to my standards (which could change at my whim), and it actually stayed clean! As I mentioned before, I’m anal, so this was supremely satisfying and comforting to me. No one likes to come home from a stressful day at work to a messy apartment. For me, it just perpetuates the stress.
Anyway, despite being reunited with all of these good things about living alone, there’s been a slightly disturbing development. My new roommate is the TV. We have a standing date every Friday night for a series of my favorite shows. If I’m home, the TV is on. If the TV’s not on, the radio is, or I’m on the phone. We fall asleep together at night (whoever invented the sleep function for TVs was a GENIUS).
I just need to have something making noise, so I don’t feel quite so alone. And I’ve started talking to myself, or the TV. Not constantly, (no need to worry about my sanity, I swear) but here and there. Usually some smart remark that I would have said to make J laugh. As you can imagine my wit is so sharp, I just have to let it out whether I have an audience or not.
Most of the time I’m not really even paying attention to what’s on the TV. Part of that is also due to my disappointment with cable TV. I have about 75 channels, and more often than I’d like, I can’t find anything I want to watch. Maybe I just have tastes that are too particular, or the majority of popular TV is crap. Whatever. TV and I are not going to break-up. The “It’s not you, it’s me” line just wouldn’t work. The handful of shows that I do like, I am addicted to. They make the cable bill worth the cost. Still, I’m starting to feel bad about always having the same answer to “Hey Babe, whatcha doin’?” when J calls. “Watchin’ TV and _____” [insert some form of work, chore or diversion here]. This time I could say “Watchin’ TV and blogging.”
posted by Lil Kate at 7:59 AM
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