I lived the life for four months. Man, it was sweet. I walked around in my boxers, cranked up the stereo at 6:30 in the morning, and didn’t have to compromise with anyone. I’ve now been thrust into a new routine. It’s been less than 24 hours, but I miss my freedom already. My two old roommates moved out over the summer and I had primarily had the house to myself for four months. Sure, Petro moved in in September, but he has his own floor, so I was able to maintain my routine and protect my space. Last night, a third roommate, Hulk, moved in and the adjustment is going to take me a little while.
I haven’t had to discuss morning shower routines since May or June, but I did just that last night. As a man, I don’t have a plethora of shower products, but what I do have had been spread across the four corners of my tiny bathroom. Last night, I had to rein in that apparatus (towel, shampoo, soap dish, et al.) and watch as Hulk’s apparatus appeared before my very eyes.
Our cozy kitchen has the added feature of a pantry. Just one more thing on my list to clear out so Hulk will have space for his food and dishware. Same for the refrigerator, which seems to already be full of Petro’s and my food. Yet, like it or not, we’ll have to consolidate and make room for Hulk.
Sure, these are small concessions. I don’t mean to whine about them, but hey, this is The Diatribe, remember? It would be difficult for anyone to readjust to a new routine after four months of nirvana. I’m trying to look on the bright side and remember that my rent will decrease, along with my heat, electric, and cable TV bills. So what if I have to put some clothes on when I balance my checkbook, right?
Now, if he’s sitting in my chair watching my TV when I get home, heaven help me…