So, somewhere along the way in the last month I managed to pick up my first housemate (not including family or partners) in 8 years.

I should quickly bring you up to speed on my living arrangments first – I finally found a place to rent. Not a mean feat in Perth let me tell you. It’s a beautiful semi detached with wooden floorboards, high ceilings, big rooms and a cute little courtyard, perfect for smoking and drinking and reading late into the night. And I can afford the rent without giving up food – and trust me, it was getting close to coming to that. Plus it has the added advantage of my family and I staying friends because I can finally stop living in the same houses as them (not recommended for headstrong 29 year olds).

And my first few months in my big ol’ house were bliss. I clomped around late at night, watched bad TV whenever I felt like it and didn’t wash my towels as often as a nice girl like me probably should.

But then things happened, cogs in the machinery whirled, and within two days I went from planning how the exercise bike I’d just hired would fit into my spare bedroom, to moving all of my “second wardrobe” out of the second bedroom as New Housemate moved in.

Now, I like my New Housemate, I’m happy that she’s living with me – I’ve known her a long time, and she has a heart of gold, so please remember that my gripes below are a reflection on me, not on her. But these are the things I miss about having my own space, even a month later;

* that I can’t shower with the door open
* that I can’t sleep with the door open
* that someone out there (other than the Planet Video staff) know what bad taste in movies / TV I have
* that someone in the world knows what terrible eating habits I have
* that I feel guily if I don’t change my bed sheets exactly a week after putting them on my bed
* that I’ve taken to hiding any bad magazines I buy, or at least justifying them by ALSO buying the Times / New Economist / Bulletin (I used to buy one of them once a month, now I’m buying all of them fortnightly – that’s how bad the magazines I have to atone for are)
* I can’t run naked between the bathroom and the bedroom when I’ve forgotten to take my clothes with me when I shower
* that I have to remember to take clothes with me when I shower
* that I can’t just slam the door when I get home from work and lie on the sofa and not talk to anyone when I’m in a bad mood
* that I can’t grump around in the mornings – I’m a bad morning person, and it’s REALLY hard for me to even say “good morning” let alone sound friendly when doing it

And the wrost part – the self-realisation that I’m so petty, these things actually bother me….

Oh well. What doesn’t kill us, makes us stronger. And there are some upsides… She understands that complicated thing called food shopping that’s always eluded me, and suddenly my fridge is full. And she’s brought seven seasons of Seinfield with her. I think we’re going to be okay.

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