I am extremely uncomfortable with people in my personal space.

Come to think of it, I’m usually just uncomfortable in general.

I’ve gone so far that I have snuck out the back kitchen door to avoid saying hello or making small talk with my old roommate who was hosting Book Club in the living room.

Looking back, I wasn’t the friendliest when I grew up with my mother, either. She would pleasantly ask how my day was or offer me love, and I’d snap with a “leave me alone!”

You may wonder, “how did you survive college dorms?”

I drank. A lot.

I drank a lot when I had roommates in San Francisco and New York, too, which is probably why they all wanted me out.

I know… I’m charming.

So, over the past several years I’ve jumped from apartment to apartment, roommate to roommate, as the finicky girl with a severe drinking problem.

Today, I’m sober- and although I’m beating the alcohol problem, I can’t quite adapt to the roommate thing.

Alas, until rent goes down (or I make it big), I’ll have to get used to cohabitation.

All I can hope for is that my roommates dislike small talk as much as I do.


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