What asshole left those dishes in the sink for the past three days? Oh right, it was me. And whose clothes are strewn all about the place? Me again. And the layer of dust an inch thick — don’t tell me, it was that jerk me again. Dearest fellow travelers, I can’t begin to tell you how excited I am that in just a few short weeks, I will once again have these non-woes.

I’ve always enjoyed living on my own, and did so for a couple years after college, but I can live with others. I was a miserable roommate freshman year, but by the time I was studying in Rome junior year, I had shaped up into a more considerate person (with egregious exceptions, I’m sure). When I moved to Chicago, I found two roommates looking for a third on Craigslist, and we quickly settled into a happy living situation.

That was three years ago, and since then I’ve had eight roommates total rotate through the same apartment. I became close friends with three of them, dire enemies with one, resentful acquaintances with two, and friendly Facebook friends with the rest. I discovered all the reasons people love living with others: someone to talk to when you come home from work, someone to share dinner with, someone to split the utility bills with. I’ve entertained couch surfers with roommates and thrown blowout parties with roommates. I went to Jamal’s improv show and to the movies with Mike. Marina made me a hedgehog cake from scratch for my birthday and Katherine gave me a book with an inscription that made me cry when she moved away. After they moved out, I visited Julie in Pasadena and Marina in Utrecht.

So you see, I have thoroughly enjoyed many aspects of living with others, and I’ve been pretty lucky in finding strangers on Craigslist who turn into friends. But the roommates who didn’t work out so well — well, they’re reason enough to take up residence in a hermitage. I’m done covering other people’s rent in order to avoid eviction, discovering multiple items stolen from my room and common rooms, and locking myself away from overnight guests high on drugs I couldn’t even name. There are downsides to not knowing who you’re shacking up with, although as I always point out to concerned relatives, living with someone is also the easiest way to lose a once-good friend after innumerable fights over boyfriends who never leave the apartment, bills gone unpaid, and the ever-present dishes/cleaning situation. You take a risk however you go about it.

And thus I’m saying farewell to my beloved apartment (so beloved that Marina and I named it Angie) and moving across the alley to a one bedroom. It’ll cost much more, it’s three flights up instead of ground floor, and there’s no porch, but in exchange I get to be the sole ruler of my domain, and nothing matches the sweetness of that.

Have you all seen this video that’s been making the rounds, “How to Be Alone“? Andrea Dorfman recorded a video set to Tanya Davis’s poem about not just making it through times when you’re on your own, but embracing, savoring, and enjoying the state of being alone. It’s a lovely video and I appreciate the sentiment, even if at this stage in my life I don’t need the advice because I’m actively living it.

I’m sure there will be a time in the future when I won’t mind sharing my permanent living space, and of course couch surfing my way around the world is a whole separate issue of nomadic living, but for now I’m perfectly content to set up a new apartment and make it my own.

How about you? What living situation works best for you? What roommate horror stories or heartwarming tales do you have?

I will miss Angie, though. Lucky the Stones wrote a song just for us. Ain’t it time we said goodbye, indeed: