Living with other people is something most of us will do for the majority of our lives.
Unless you “pull a Walden,” or just decide to live on your own, compromise, patience and understanding will probably be the main mantra guiding your home life.
Getting to know your roommate’s tendencies and adjusting yourself accordingly is essential to making home the least bit bearable.
I consider myself a master at the art of “getting along.” Being in college for the last three years and hopping around to four different colleges before finally settling in at the University of Oregon had me living with all sorts of people.
Now, being in the dorms gives you a certain freedom to find and bond with other like-minded people much more easily than a transfer student living off-campus. Nevertheless, you’re paired with someone you don’t know and more than likely will never live with again.
Still, it’s nice to make the situation livable.
The first three weeks don’t matter. Unless you come across a complete weirdo, write the first few introductory weeks off as courtesy.
After three weeks of living with my roomie, we started to break down. She was a picker. She did things that were outright cruel to test me, so to speak.
I was new and trodding on her turf. I was patient and withstood this persecution, as demeaning and demoralizing as it was.
And believe me, at certain times it was all I could do from yelling “WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!!!” at the top of my lungs and booking a flight home.
I endured, though.
I went to class, took in Eugene, took in the University and took in the people.
Much of the tension in our roommate relationship was overshadowed by the parties, homework, football games, concerts and other playground equipment Eugene has to offer.
But come a few weeks before finals, things really started to fall apart.
I have ridiculous tendencies. That’s a given. But I also feel that I can keep my shit in line pretty well most of the time. I party hard, but rarely have I ever been “that guy” at the party: blacked out and on the verge of expelling something stewy. Apparently, one night in November, I was “that guy.”
We were over at a friend’s house when a shotgunning duel began. For those unaware, I’ll interpret: A friend and I were competing in drinking excessive amounts of beer at an extremely unhealthy rate. (As a side note, go look up all your partying terms immediately on urbandictionary.com and feel ashamed.) Needless to say, I got wasted.
I don’t remember exactly the events that occurred, but from multiple reports I was trying to “get up on” some girl via some hot dance moves and was a wee bit too pushy. I was kindly expelled from the party by my lovely roommate, who told me my presence was not desired by anyone anymore. I walked home drunkenly confused and angered by the situation.
My roommate and I didn’t talk for two whole weeks. I didn’t really make an attempt, and she disdainfully disregarded me as a living human being.
I went home for winter break looking forward to coming back to Eugene, but not at all to seeing my roommate.
When I did come back, we both knew our feelings were going to have to be verbalized.
I confessed to not exactly remembering what went on the night I was kicked out, and we “made up.”
My roommate and I have definitely had our fair share of conflicts since then, but we’ve begun to understand each other better. I now truly believe that it’s possible to live with just about anyone. You may have to adjust some of your tendencies. You may have to get to know someone who’s different from yourself (which can be a really scary, uncomfortable thing).
But what this sort of interaction accomplishes is amazing.
You begin to discover new things about yourself. You begin to take on a new perspective of the world and gain insight into things you never really even thought about before.
I wish I had the chance or could battle the inertia of being content with my current situation enough to discover someone else. Not because I don’t like my roommate. Shit, we’re besties now.
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