ode to a room with a door.

i have, for the time being, situated myself in a room of my own. with a door and everything. i have a clever little quasi-bathroom. and a bed that is not a couch.

and, of course, now that i have a bed, i've been sleeping in somebody else's.

i'm sure there's some cardinal rule about dating one's roommate.

two points.

one: it eliminates that whole pesky phone tag how-do-we-coordinate-our-lives thing.
two: you'll never have to borrow a toothbrush.

(it would be cumbersome to speak of the fact that i finally found a pleasant living situation, one with ample cuddling, only weeks before i move across the country. so i won't speak of this. at the moment, i am quite pleased. with the nagging exception that my cat of eleven years is likely dying. which is impending heartbreak. but truly, pleased, i promise)

yes, i know. proponent of the parenthetical.

but i have laundry in my apartment. which is blissful.