My alternate title for this post was “What to Do When Your Roommates Abandon You in the City Where Everyone Has Gone Home For the Summer Except You Because You Have a Job(s).” You’ll see why that didn’t work out.
I work now- in fact, I’d even call myself a working girl- and so on Monday, that’s where I was for quite awhile. If you must know, I was
yelling at a postively gargantuan yet apparently deaf bug typing personals all day. Its ‘a trying life, let me tell you. But I had this dark cloud of lonely hanging over my head: I’d risen at 5:45 so I could drink coffee with Janie, and then hung out with her at the Riverside desk so I could get a boy’s number soak up our last couple of hours together before she gallivanted off and left me here.
As happy as I am here- which is really quite happy minus the bugs and the loneliness- I miss my girls.
After all, they’re my family. And I couldn’t help feeling a little abandoned. But then that changed. I came home, and I was tired. I didn’t mind being alone, because all I wanted to do was inhale carbohydrates and lie on the couch and fall in love with Community on Hulu. But then- this.
Right there on the microwave. It was as if she were there, because, let me tell you, she fully supports that statement with her real-life actions. And so I started looking around, and I realized, alone as I was, I was not abandoned.
I went about my night, and went to sleep, and I woke up.
I got ready.
I did some chores.
I considered calling Jimbo-
I thought better of it since my creepster nature is something I like to keep hidden until people have already committed to being my friend. Instead, I finished Water for Elephants, which was so superb that I really didn’t want to finish at all.
I ran 95476957 errands.
I did some yoga.
I scrubbed my bathtub and tweeted and read a magazine and cooked a sweet potato and found some leftover Easter chocolate. And all was quiet.
Nobody asked me to turn up the TV or leave on the stove.
Nobody wanted to play canasta for 16th time in a row, and nobody suggested that we do some arts and crafts to hang on the wall. Truthfully, it’s a little lonely around here.
But I know they’ll be back, with stories and laughter and opinions and advice. They’ll come rushing in here and fill this place back up until it’s bubbling over again and the neighbors hit the ceiling with a broomstick.
But until then, I know. I got it.
And this one? Well, I think it speaks for itself.