The grating sound of a semi-truck wakes me from pleasent dreams of fluffy bunnies frolicking in green grass warmed to the perfect temperature by the glowing summer sun.
Rudely awakened, I strike back, slaming the horrible device that is my alam clock back to twenty minutes of oblivion. I repeat this act a second time, this time pleading and begging that the next beep will come more slowly. It comes even quicker.
In the cold, quiet desolation of five am I finally give up on sunshine and bunnies. In a fit of rage I arise, cursing my commute and vowing to find a different job, closer to home, where I can sleep in to a normal time like my roommate, and the roommate before her, and the roommate before her.
As I aproach five years of variations on this horrid mobstrosity of a commute, I realize two things: 1- I really really love living in kitsap county or I wouldnt do this hour and a half to two hour commute in the cold and darkness each morning, and 2- someone lied to me when they told me it gets better and you get used to it.
Kind of like the constant influx of roommates in my life. 56 (including 17 mission comps) is about on her way out out the door. I am in a desperate hunt for 57.
The saddest part, I promised myself that 55 was going to be it for roommates, 56 was supposed to be an eternal companion. I just raised the bar on that, he has to appear by roommate number 60. Please dont let me have over 60 roommates. That is just pitifully ridiculous.
Yes, Ive had many roommates, many that I loved living with, many that were tollerable to live with, and some, the few, the proud, the brave, that I hated to live with. Some became my best most trusted friends, some became much better friends when i didnt have to live with their messy dishes making some primordial soup of disgusting slimy fith in the sink, and some, well lets just say we both agreed to silently go our seperate ways and never speak of that horror again.
Why then do I even want to risk it with yet another roommate? Well, theres finacial reasons, and then theres the fact that Ive done the living alone thing before, and though I am an introvert, I still hate it worse than the worst roommate Ive ever had.
A four twentu am beeping alarm for the fifth horrible morning in a row is far more agreeable to me than always coming home and knowing there will be no one there to tell how wonderful or horrible your day was.
And even worse than that, coming home from church sunday and having dinner by yourself. I love sunday roommate dinner, and Ive been told I am a really excellent cook.
Its six twenty, one more leg of my commute. Time for a fluffy bunny type nap on the ferry.
Rudely awakened, I strike back, slaming the horrible device that is my alam clock back to twenty minutes of oblivion. I repeat this act a second time, this time pleading and begging that the next beep will come more slowly. It comes even quicker.
In the cold, quiet desolation of five am I finally give up on sunshine and bunnies. In a fit of rage I arise, cursing my commute and vowing to find a different job, closer to home, where I can sleep in to a normal time like my roommate, and the roommate before her, and the roommate before her.
As I aproach five years of variations on this horrid mobstrosity of a commute, I realize two things: 1- I really really love living in kitsap county or I wouldnt do this hour and a half to two hour commute in the cold and darkness each morning, and 2- someone lied to me when they told me it gets better and you get used to it.
Kind of like the constant influx of roommates in my life. 56 (including 17 mission comps) is about on her way out out the door. I am in a desperate hunt for 57.
The saddest part, I promised myself that 55 was going to be it for roommates, 56 was supposed to be an eternal companion. I just raised the bar on that, he has to appear by roommate number 60. Please dont let me have over 60 roommates. That is just pitifully ridiculous.
Yes, Ive had many roommates, many that I loved living with, many that were tollerable to live with, and some, the few, the proud, the brave, that I hated to live with. Some became my best most trusted friends, some became much better friends when i didnt have to live with their messy dishes making some primordial soup of disgusting slimy fith in the sink, and some, well lets just say we both agreed to silently go our seperate ways and never speak of that horror again.
Why then do I even want to risk it with yet another roommate? Well, theres finacial reasons, and then theres the fact that Ive done the living alone thing before, and though I am an introvert, I still hate it worse than the worst roommate Ive ever had.
A four twentu am beeping alarm for the fifth horrible morning in a row is far more agreeable to me than always coming home and knowing there will be no one there to tell how wonderful or horrible your day was.
And even worse than that, coming home from church sunday and having dinner by yourself. I love sunday roommate dinner, and Ive been told I am a really excellent cook.
Its six twenty, one more leg of my commute. Time for a fluffy bunny type nap on the ferry.
I'm like a nap junkie lately myself. It doesn't get more pathetic than napping on the couch in the bathroom at work!
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