Being Me

Moving into a complete strangers house is pretty bizarre when I come to think of it. I don't know these people and they don't know me. None of us knew what the hell we were actually getting ourselves into when we decided, "sure, let's give this a shot." But it seems to be working out ok. It helps that we all have had this experience before. We've been taking turns cooking meals, eating together, doing the dishes, keeping the fire loaded with wood. Fairly sharing chores is one key ingredient to living together peacefully.

I don't mind living with strangers, I've done it many times before, but I'm not as comfortable as when I am in my own space, obviously. If this was my house or these were dear friends I was living with instead of strangers I would be acting a bit differently. For instance, I would walk into the living room to the stereo and put on Sing Fang Bous. As Advent In Ives Garden is playing at full blast, I would dance my way into the kitchen, shaking my hips side to side, dipping my shoulders back and forth, bobbing my head, singing along, which would cause an impromptu dance party amongst me and my room mates. Once in the kitchen we would rhythmically chop vegetables, drizzle olive oil, and cook scrumptious vegetarian meals. Sitting down at the table in the dining room, we would eat, talk, tell crass jokes, laugh to tears, and be in complete merriment.

Here, this hasn't happened. Not yet.