“Where do you live?” It’s a question that I am met with daily. Casually, I respond that my abode is a single and, without fail, eyes widen enviously.
“Really? How did you manage to pull that off?” I tell them that I won the housing raffle and they begin to ramble on about how I’m so lucky to live alone. Usually I let them talk; I’ve given up on pointing out the disadvantages of living in a single.
Sure, living in solitude comes with the obvious perks. I don’t have to share my space with anyone, so I have a level of privacy that most people at this school won’t have again until they rent their very own hole in the wall “grown-up” apartment.
At first, I was elated with my single. Never before have I had a space that is mine alone. No one else can come in unless I let them, which means no more obnoxious friends of my roommate or unwanted conversation.
I became more than comfortable in my new space. With my computer, TiVo and Wisey’s across the street, I found myself spending more and more time by my lonesome. Living in “LX Far” makes the main campus seem distant, and getting out of my room began to require too much energy. Instead of venturing past the front gates, I would lie in my bed, get ahead on my schoolwork and watch television reruns.
I don’t know anyone in my building and my friends on various occasions have told me that they’d visit if it weren’t for the distance. In the beginning, I didn’t mind that I had no visitors; I was comfortable in my little world, and I had become very content within the confines of my four walls.
Weeks passed. I realized that I hadn’t spent time with the majority of my friends. The Wisey’s containers were stacked high next to my garbage can and I began to realize that maybe I wasn’t so content with just me. I was missing out on the normal, random experiences of college life. My life had become too predictable, too boring.
One Friday night, I picked up the phone determined to get out of my room and have fun with other people. I called one friend: no answer. I called another: they promised to call me back but didn’t.
I lay down on my bed, defeated. I was out of the loop. I had spent so much time in my room, enjoying my newfound space and privacy, that people didn’t even bother to invite me out anymore. I lay there that night feeling isolated and alone, and realized that I had no one to blame but myself.
After that night, I became determined to break out of my shell. I forced myself to go to the library even when I didn’t have that much work. Whenever a friend invited me to dinner, I went with them. Many times I peeled myself out of bed and forced myself to find something, anything, to do. I couldn’t be content doing nothing in my room anymore. I simply needed human interaction.
Eventually, I found my way back into the loop. Friends realized that I still actually went to Georgetown and I became ready to leave my self-imposed isolation. It’s still a constant battle to keep in touch with people and to go out of my way to spend time with my friends and pursue various activities on campus.
Sometimes, it’s nice to come back to my empty room. I don’t have to worry about the scrunchie-on-the-doorknob dilemma, but beside that, it’s lonely out there and sometimes it’s nice to have someone to turn to and say goodnight to before passing out. Living in a single really isn’t that great. Seriously.
