House And Home

This is another post about house and home.  Which is funny because I have a deep aversion to nesting, shelter publications (although this response on design*sponge to an article about online shelter publications is a must read for lady bloggers), and pretty pictures that make me want to buy more stuff. I’m going to write about the people in my home instead, and then post pretty pictures that will make me feel content with the stuff I have.

I find myself occasionally envious of women with roommates. If you forget about the arguments about housecleaning and bathroom time and boyfriends suddenly spending the night, they’re always having so much fun. And when women my age talk about their closest friends, they always seem to be talking about people they lived with during and after college.

My first two years of college — living in the same dorm with my two best friends and then living in a house with three good friends — were some of the most fun I ever had. Husband and I have been paired off since the summer after my sophomore year. We didn’t live together, but we might as well have for all I saw my roommates.  Sometimes I miss nothing more than sitting on the porch with my girlfriends or having someone else to weigh in on my outfit before a date and I wonder if I’d have more close female friends now if I’d put more time in with my college roommates, or at least lived with other people afterwards. Then again, I never made so many poor life decisions as I did during those first two years, so maybe it’s for the best that I moved on from roommates.

I also can’t understate the joy and independence that living alone brought to my life. I lived in a two room studio with warped bathroom walls and a leaky ceiling for two years and loved every minute of it. Especially the minutes that I had not one but three pots scattered around my kitchen to catch the leaks. Because what could be more romantic? [I changed my tune when I found out the leak was coming from upstairs neighbors’ bathroom and had been slowly dropping on my clean, air-drying dishes for weeks.] I scaled back even further and lived in a postage stamp sized studio for one summer while I studied for the bar. And I don’t think I really knew who I was until I knew how I would start a morning, left entirely to my own devices. It turns out I can start every morning with The Hurricane on vinyl and a cup of herbal tea. I don’t do that anymore, since I have a puppy to walk and another person walking around wanting to listen to and drink different things, but there’s value in knowing that I can hit reset with my tea kettle and record player if I need to.

That kitchen is ridiculous, am I right?

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