Space Relations: The Case Of The Perpetually Wasted Roommate
When I was a freshman in college, I really loved my roommate in the dorms who, as I mentioned before, was a good friend from high school and is still a good friend today. But while I’m the type who holes up in my room when I’m feeling overwhelmed by change, she’s the type who says “fuck it” and heads out to party to live it up. As much as I learned from her about how to not take every little problem so seriously, I’ll admit there were times when her late-night festivities jolted my life in an unpleasant way. Like the time I had strep throat and woke up with a fever of 102 to an impromptu party in our dorm room at 4AM. The fact that she was more laid back about certain things only worked on so many levels, and over the next 10 years I discovered that the ‘strep throat incident’ would be replicated in some way with nearly every other roommate I had.
There was the girl with the pill-popping habit who was a server in a fast-paced environment by day but liked to slooowwww things down by night. Her version of unwinding involved coupling a big glass of wine with a Valium (or three) while watching marathons of Spongebob Squarepants. I never really understood the combination, but for her it was pretty much the best thing ever. It was totally fine by me – to each her own – but watching her go from a chic outfit to sweatpants and then melt into a puddle on the couch did get a little …. awkward. Then there was the roommate whose drunken habits not only made me responsible for making sure she got up in time for work, but also bizarrely turned her from a vegetarian to the fiercest meat-eater you’ve ever seen. I once awoke to find my leftovers container open in the living room and still containing vegetables and mashed potatoes, but distinctly lacking a chicken breast. She claimed that drinking made her “crave meat”, but considering the circumstances, I tried not to read too much into that.
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