I have had four different "permanent" addresses. Though, truly, how can they be permanent if I’ve had four of them?
My first one is the one my parents used to make sure I went to a good elementary school. They used my grandma’s address and made me memorize it. I can still recite it perfectly and in my sleep. I never really lived there. It was integral in my life but it is not where I grew up. It was not where I slept. It was just my grandparent’s house.
My second one is my parent’s home. For nineteen years, I laid my head in the same bed in the same room in the same house. My sleep habits varied from door open with a night light, to door closed with a sleeping mask. I knew — still know — where the creaky floorboards are and the exact way to walk around them so I don’t wake anyone up. I did what my parents asked of me. That house has seen four dogs, three cats, two bunnies, two chickens, and probably close to 1,000 fish. It was built more than 100 years ago. It needs a new roof and insulation. It needs historical marker status.
My third one is my first apartment. It had two stories and four bedrooms. Each bedroom had its own bathroom and walk-in closet. It was somewhere around $500 per month. I lived with my best friends and a random 30-year-old woman pursuing a degree in accounting (my other roommates and I were all arts majors).
The rooms had one big window each to let light and heat in. The living room window faced away from any direct sunlight, so it was always dark. Our neighbors were a handful of nice guys who always got a little too drunk on the weekends, but they always invited us to play washers outside with them, so it wasn’t so bad. I was on the second floor, and it was almost always stuffy. At least one of the girls snored. I slept with ear plugs until I bought a fan to have on for white noise.
This place was the first place I learned to live with people who do not love me. I learned a lot about roommates and being a roommate.
I learned that you will expect yourself to be clean all the time. You will imagine yourself doing dishes right after eating or cooking. You'll imagine yourself eating a homecooked meal every day. You will imagine yourself taking out the trash.You will imagine yourself doing laundry on the same day every week and putting it away right away. You'll imagine all of this. You will expect to be different when you live on your own. But you will not be different.
You will still leave your dishes in the sink for too close to too long, and you will forget you left your laundry in the washer until a roommate texts you about it. You will recognize that you have tried and failed at being the "perfect" roommate. This is not because your parents didn’t teach you common decency. You see those dishes and you think “I should get to that,” but you don’t.You'll probably forget that the dirty dishes are yours.You let them sit until there is no room in the sink and then you move them to the dishwasher (if your apartment has one) and let them sit until the dishwasher is full. You do this simply because you can.
And it is unfair to think that your roommates leave dishes or laundry to spite you. As if their backpack on the couch is a directly passive aggressive action they have taken against you (it’s not). They live their life differently than you. If the dishes are truly bothersome to you, mention it, but don’t think that someone is going to completely change their living habits just for you. As with a lot of things, people must find their own motivation.
My fourth, and most recent, permanent address is my current apartment. I live with two other girls, one dog, and one bunny.
Questions to ask your roommates before you move in:
- I’m going to try and fail to be a good roommate a lot of the time, is that okay?
- If it is not, you must be perfect and infallible. Are you God?
