We moved all the furniture (except the piano–a long, long story) to the new house on Saturday.
My roommate’s father, uncle, mother, and old family friend from Boston are amazing, wonderful people who all deserve week-long vacations in the Caribbean, and when I’m a millionaire and can afford to send them, I have every intention of doing so. Along with the one male friend who a) remembered we were moving and b) called up on Friday to say, “I’m trying to schedule my weekend. Do you two need help?” This guy has been added to my (highly exclusive) list of Most Favorite People Ever. And a home-cooked dinner is in his future…
A coworker who learned about my new housing situation said–in response to my hopeful, “It’ll be an adventure”–“It sounds like a bad sitcom.”
I’ve had that prophecy running around in my brain for the past three days. Bad sitcom? Maybe just really funny. Really, really funny. Five women in one house.* Granted, I grew up with six women in one house, and we all managed it. In fact, it was usually a lot of fun. A lot of stray earrings and bobby pins lying around, a lot of laughter, a lot of good cooking, and a lot of hair in the bathtub drain.
In all seriousness, I look back on this past year with one wonderful roommate, and I see all sorts of lessons–at times tough, but always good–I’ve learned about myself and about life and about loving other people. Seeing how much good has come out of this one year, I’m excited to dive in to our new situation. There will be new facets of my own personality to discover, new demons to face down, and (I hope!) three new good friends to share some of my life with.
For the sake of protecting the innocent, I don’t name names on this blog. From here on out, the roommate of the past year will be referred to as “Roommate #1.” Both for convenience sake, and because she is No. 1 in my book, across the board. I’d say you should all take her as your own roommate, except that I don’t intend to give her up. So you can just envy me.