12.30.04. 12.30pm.
arf du lornly?
i have concluded, through extensive and intensive investigation (aside: linguistically speaking, shouldn't "extensive" and "intensive" be opposites?) that living alone is not for me. or rather, i am not for it, if you take my meaning. and if you've taken my meaning, i would request that you return it; i mean precious little enough already.
to begin again: i don't enjoy living alone. blodgett is in new york, mimi is in london, and jess is, well, somewhere. and so here i am with no one else living here. and i don't like it.
oh, i enjoy my personal time, without talking to anyone. particularly at breakfast, a fact with those who have lived with me can corroborate. but coming home to an empty flat? having no one around at night? falling asleep on the couch, and not having blodgett to wake me up and send me to bed? no fun.
i've heard people say, "i'm moving into a single appartment, i'm just so fed up with having roommates!" which, i mean, i guess i could kind of understand, if you've lived with people who you're not so living-compatable with. but man, just find better roommates! living alone is so drab!
one could argue that i need a better social life, which is an argument one is free to make, and you certainly might score a point or two. but really, i've been busy like every night. so pooh-pooh on you. and the times i am out late and i come home and everyone's already gone to bed? yeah, that's no fun either.
moral of the story: living with people is much better than the alternative.