I live with four other people and the walls are paper thin. It always seems like whenever I’m about to snuggle up to a good book or have an early morning and need a full night’s rest, somebody decides to blast their white trash Limp Bizkit or Will Smith’s “Miami” at the exact moment I become comfortable in my solitude.
Another thing when living in a house full of others—one bathroom is simply not enough. More often than not, I will get my towel, gather my clothes, and head to the bathroom, only to watch a roommate open their door, smile awkwardly, and then enter the bathroom. Of course they’re taking a shower or an hour long dump. And of course I’m running late to work.