Half a Room

I am difficult to live with.

Don't fight me on this one.

I'm accepting and admitting my faults.

Just run with it.

My track record ran downhill at a young age, when I woke my sisters up at 4 am. Sometimes I needed my audiobook restarted, sometimes I had scary dreams, and sometimes I was just bored and wanted company. (Word to the wise - when you're 20 years old, the last thing you want to do is keep a 3 year old company in the predawn hours.)

It's only gotten worse from there. My rap sheet of roommate atrocities is as long as my arm. From bringing home feeder crickets to letting my life go to shambles on finals week with Britt last year, locking Jenna out at 3am (while she was deathly ill, I might add!) our first night in Ecuador, or, my most recent crimes, getting up at 6 am (even on weekends) and blinding Michaela with my desk light, all while muttering - loudly - to myself in spanish, it becomes easy to see what I'm getting at.

In summary, ladies, I am sorry. You're all wonderful human beings, and shouldn't have (had) to contend with a blanket-fort-dwelling, early-rising, open-window-loving, folk-music-streaming, key-losing, roommate.

But I appreciate it.