Someone Else's Toothpaste

When I was in college, three and a half out of my four and a half years there was spent living with roommates.  My junior year, however, I had apartmentmates, but no roommates.  It was seriously pretty frickin’ rad having my own room and bathroom.  Basically it was like having a really really small apartment all to myself.

In this mini apartment, how I lived was completely up to me.  What I put in my room was up to me.  How often I cleaned was up to me.  Everything was decided by me.  I had my own personal domain and I loved it.

I put the books I wanted onto my bookshelf.  The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy never looked quite at like it did by my bed next to The Collected Works of Edgar Allan Poe.  My cd rack contained only what I wanted to listen to which was at the time, unfortunately, a lot of crap, such as early Limp Bizkit and Nickelback cds.  I know, I cringe thinking about it myself.

Everything was exactly how I wanted it and I figured it couldn’t get any better.  Then tonight as I was getting out of the shower it really hit me that I’m ready to move on from the solitary home life I have, a living arrangement where everything is decided by me.  It’s run its course and I’m ready to have someone else contributing to my living quarters.

I stood there in the shower drying off looking at my sink, with the myriad of things I have stacked around it—my toothbrush, hair gel, mouthwash, healing lotion, eye drops, and other assorted bathroom goods—and I had the most overwhelming urge to have something there that wasn’t mine.  I wanted someone else’s hand lotion to be there, or to have contact solution resting in the corner.  

I want to look into the shower and see not only my shampoo, but a bottle of conditioner that I’ll never use, but I’ll have to make room for.  I want to open up the fridge and see a bunch of vegetables that I think are gross sitting in front of my string cheese and Red Bull.  I want movies that I’d never even imagine buying interspersed on my dvd rack.

When I look at my nightstand-ish area of the railing in my room I keep imagining how nice it would be to have a jewelry holder next to where I set my wallet and palm pilot.  And under my bed… it wouldn’t just be spindles of cds full of random crap I burned but maybe a box or two of someone else’s stuff that is as equally ignored.

I don’t want everything to be just mine any more.  I desire signs of life other than mine to be present in my dwelling place.  Bring on someone else’s dirty laundry!  I can take it.  Heck, I want another person’s mess around.  Being surrounded by only my crap is starting to wear just a little thin.