I like living alone. I love it, in fact. LOVE. IT. I can sit around in my underwear, sing at the top of my lungs, leave my things all over the floor. I have two bedrooms here and one of them is still full of unpacked boxes and random stuff, because I live alone and don't have to worry about it.

But living alone also costs me about $850 a month, and so I'm considering the ultimate horror: a roommate.

Okay, so maybe it's not the ultimate horror, but the idea still doesn't really thrill me. I'm an only child. I didn't learn to share. After living with my parents, I lived on my own for three years, visits from the Australian notwithstanding. For about six months I did have a kinda-sorta roommate, but she basically lived with her boyfriend and was only at "our" house once a week or so. After that I lived with my aunt and cousins for two years, but I had the basement to myself, had my own living room and my own bathroom. And then I lived alone again for a glorious year and a half.

But now, someone at work, who I've started becoming friends with, is looking for somewhere to live. She's actually excited at the prospect of my four pets, which is saying something all on its own. And I could definitely use the financial relief. It would be $400 extra a month that I could use elsewhere. That'd be pretty sweet. I could get chunks of my credit card debt paid off sooner. I wouldn't have to stress so much about making money. Maybe I could get that new computer I was whining about a couple of entries ago. Maybe I could save up a decent car down payment. From the financial side of things, it's brilliant.

But from the "I hate wearing pants any more than absolutely necessary" perspective, and the "I'm basically a hermit" perspective ... not so much. I spend so much of my time worrying about other peoples' personal space and wants and needs, and home is where I come to not have to smile or be nice or acknowledge the existence of anybody else if I don't wanna. I don't want to give that up.

So what to do?

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