And Then There Were...One.

When I was in middle school, I went to California, all by myself, to visit my grandmother. It was probably the first time I'd been responsible for taking care of myself (albeit briefly) and I was nervous. The next morning, I watched my grandmother make freshly squeezed orange juice (in much the same way that my mom moved away from the midwest and instantly became a desert person, my grandmother instantly became a California hippie)...

Me: Do you like living alone?

G: I enjoy it very much. Why do you ask?

Me: Aren't you lonely?

G: Sometimes, I guess. (winks) But I don't know, Peanut, there's just something about it.


And indeed there is. Despite the fact that the kitchen lights don't work (let me tell you, cooking in the dark is a whole new challenge), the back wall of the bedroom is painted hot (HOT) pink, the shower drain is less than ideal, and I have no mailbox key (the landlord says she's "not sure what to do"), the new place is great. The cat and I can sleep as late as we want, walk around in our underwear, and DVR History Channel specials to watch at two in the morning. If I was ever up at two in the morning...

I have to admit though, it was slightly hard saying goodbye to the temporary roommate. I guess I rarely meet people who a) I genuinely like to hang out with and b) are up for genuinely hanging out.