I’m a spoiled brat. My parents added on to our house to ensure that each of us got a room of our own. Nobody was going to have to share. Maybe we should have shared so that this wouldn’t be so weird for me.
My roommate is a nice girl. She really is. She knows what she wants, which is odd with people our age. She comes from a family very different from mine and is the first to go to college, though she’s the youngest. I give her props for that. Like any other relationship, I will be the one to say this: “it’s not you, it’s me.”
Sharing a room bugs me. I don’t like feeling like I can’t go to bed, even though I’m tired. I don’t like the fluorescent light she turns on all the time. I don’t like getting awakened every morning by the door opening or closing. I just don’t like it.
It all comes down to this: I hate the lack of privacy. I miss being able to play music as loud as I like, Skype Robby whenever I want and talk on the phone whenever to whomever. I’m careful not to do these things in our room because it bugs me when she does it. I’m leading by example. I leave the room to talk on the phone or wait until she leaves the room. I do my homework during the day so that I can sleep at night; she waits until late at night when I want to sleep.
In short, I just hate sharing a room. And again, it’s not her, it’s me and what gets on my nerves. She’s a nice girl. I’m just a bitch who wants her privacy but can’t seem to get it.