Starting one week from tomorrow, I will no longer be able to walk -- post-shower, sans towel -- from the bathroom to my living room to check the weather in the morning. Since I managed to neglect to put up any kind of window dressing for the past year and a half in my kitchen (the room between the bathroom and the living room), my sure my neighbors across the courtyard will not be sad to see me go.
Since the idea of this move came about two weeks ago, I've made mental pro/con lists about my experience living alone for two and a half years. And, honestly, I'm more than a little concerned that I have forgotten how to cohabitate. Like, it may annoy others when I wish to watch TV in my skivvies... And, what do you mean I can't just leave my socks on the floor where I took them off? Or, what does this "sharing the remote" concept mean exactly? Not to mention, people may want to converse with me when I get home from work. Whaaa?
Perhaps my memory is a bit fuzzy, and, um, biased, but I believe I was a pretty courteous roommate and live-in significant other in the past. I once threw out a pair of well-worn red track pants because my significant other couldn't stand to see me wearing them anymore. That's pretty respectful, I think. (I do, however, own a new pair of red lounge pants, and they're really comfortable so I'm hoping Rachel doesn't make me toss them. But if she does hate them, they can go. See, I got nothin' but love!)
On the flip side, I have some very fond memories of living with others. Lauren and I used to sit in our hallway and talk for hours following our girly TV marathons. Those evenings were some of my favorite in all of college. And then I managed not to walk around naked. I can totally do that again.