Living alone has its benefits; privacy, independence, tranquility, and nobody judging my frequent OCD tendencies. But after a month and a half of living in an apartment owned by someone else that I cannot personalize is starting to take its toll. Eating meals with a book makes my food taste less, hearing things that go bump in the night wakes me up with a heart-thumping start, and cleaning up after myself all the time just seems silly when nobody will notice if I leave a dirty plate in the sink for a day.
I do have two new roommates, Isabella and Hector (mama and baby respectively) who live on my bathroom walls...but seeing as they are tropical salamanders they don't really offer much as far as dinner-time conversation goes but do poise interesting voyeuristic questions.
Of course I am busy at school all day, have Rotary meetings at night, and friends to explore the city with on the weekends, but nothing is quite the same as having someone--anyone--to vent to after a tough day or as a safety precaution know if I don't come home when I should. I am torn between over-involving myself in Italian classes and volunteer hours or finding other foreign roommates to get me through future months, but for the time being I find myself wistfully appreciating the amazing support networks I have back home.
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