- the thumping of my keyboard. Sure, the Mozart I was memorizing the other day got a little old after the fiftieth time, but I can only imagine hearing the clunking of the keys without the more melodious sounds that I get out of it. And with six hours a week, it can't be much fun.
- my laughing/wheezing fits. The first time I had one, I think she was legitimately worried. I would be, too, if I didn't know that my lungs equate "that was funny, you should laugh" with "you're allergic, quick, close all airways!" It happened again tonight while I was reading this. Am I sorry to alarm her (and her friend who was studying in our room)? Yes. Do I regret laughing? Absolutely not.
- my habit of waking up at 6 three days a week. I mean, she claims she falls back asleep really easily, but who are we kidding? No one likes being woken up at 6, even if she goes back to sleep right away.
- my rants. This is why I've tried to spread the love, running down the hall to my friend Abby's room to rant to her instead. Plus, she thinks they're funny (though I do apologize to her roommate, who always answers the door).
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Sometimes I pity my roommate. I mean, not that often. We help each other with chemistry. We make each other fatter with baked goods. We turn off each others' alarms. (OK, I mostly turn off hers, but whatevs.) But there are so many things she endures: