Cohabitation. Sharing a living space with one or more individuals. Shacking up. Whatever the term, we all at one point or another have lived with other people. I'm including those we're related to, and/or guardians. Granted, it isn't the same when it's members of your family; there's a different energy there form say if you were living with a friend, or living with a romantic partner. I have never lived alone. I went from living at home, to living with twelve other people, to living with my first roommate, to a boyfriend, than a friends dad, then a friend, and now my boyfriend. Each was a different experience.
My first roommate was a disaster. He was a jobless flamboyant fellow. Somehow he paid his rent on time, but had this thing with eating all of my food and putting the empty packages back in the cupboard. Then, he would start using my toiletries, so I had to literally store everything in my bedroom and lock the door when I wasn't home. It was a peculiar and short lived experience. He did get a job during our short time as roommates. I worked overnight so we rarely saw each other, but one night I was home, asleep in bed, and he came into my room. Presumably it was so he could use my laptop as he didn't have one. I wasn't impressed and he was completely shocked that I was even home. This was before I had figured out that I needed counselling (what do you mean people aren't just always angry and untrusting?). It was a couple months before my twentieth brithday when I met Italian Mat. When we got close, I stayed over at his house most of the time. And then we moved in together with another couple.
I lived with that boyfriend for a few years before the discovery of my biological fathers death. Neither of us handled it well. I had been in the middle of trying to locate my father, and we found him anout a month after his death. Needless to say, I didn't handle it well. And Mat just sort of decided that I should just get over it since I never knew him to begin with. It took another year before we actually split. Living with him was mostly great. Until that happened.
My last roommate is one of my best friends. She and I used to work together, and we're both introverts. The major difference between us is that I'm not shy and she is painfully shy. She struggles with personal confidence and body image issues, but is an intelligent, silly, and funny person. No one but I get to see that side of her, and it's a shame. Unfortunately, when we were nearing the end of living together she had started to get a bit peculiar. If I left something out on the coffee table, she would put it away somewhere awkward. But she left her things out everywhere. And if I went to bed before her and she had to take the dog out the last time, she would make sure to slam the front door extra loud. Or in the mornings she would be particularly loud knowing I might have been up late due to work. She's a passive aggressive individual, and I am not. I prefer to be straightforward, and tell people how their actions have affected me.
Last year, Chris bought a house. He bought it with me in mind. It's a small one bedroom house, with a massive kitchen, a basement, a livingroom, and a sunroom. There is so much storage in this place, we haven't even begun to tap into it fully. I've turned part of the walk in closet into a library. The only room that doesn't have books in it, is the bathroom. We're both homebodies, with similar interests, amd similar personalities. This means that sometimes we sit on the couch together, reading. Living with Chris feels right. It feels like it's what I've been waiting for. We get along well, we enjoy just being in each other's company and we have an openess that allows us to do whatever activity we want to without the other being resentful. Also, he's tidy, and so am I. I can't handle slobs. I just can't do it. Of the two of us, I'm probably messier, which isn't saying much since I'm not big into messes. I leave books around on surfaces. Lol nobody's perfect.