The Elderly Relative counted (sort of) as a roommate, but the arrangement was far from fun nor frolic.

I have lived alone for a good part of my adult life otherwise, so I was curious to know how living with another (albeit non-intensely needy) human was going to be. This apartment is compact, I’m not a tidy person, I can get moods, uh oh was I/she going to regret this?

Oh, not at all, not at all! I love living with Roomie, she with me! These things come to mind, unordered list:

• She loves my plants, whom she collectively calls “The Jungle.” She secretly gave the bromeliad a new perch; never has the bromeliad been higher nor prouder. She left a packet of plant food sticks for them with a little note. The Jungle appreciates its Auntie.
• She is a fellow creative, and makes her living being creative, and has so much insight and advice when I feel underpaid and undervalued (the default mode of people like us.)
• She likes my cooking! Miracle!
• The solidarity of FEMALE. From lady times to our occasional weird girly dinners (yogurt, cottage cheese, breakfast cereal, booze) to boy talk/man talk/ex talk, it is so good to have access to another woman at vulnerable times and all other times, too.
• She is an inspiration. The past couple years have been a challenge for her (to put it mildly) and I am in awe of her tenacity, faith, and ability for joy.

Our time together is brief; she’s moving on in a couple weeks, so we’re ending our roommate relationship while its still in its perfect prime — a good time to make an exit. We’re both in rapidly shifting transition, so, though its sad, it’s also incredibly lucky we got to pause with each other and to laugh, pop the wine and have some quality time, in every sense of the phrase.

Love you, Roomie!