Being along isn't entirely without benefits. I'm up in Salt Lake right now working as a translator for a conferences, so they're putting me up in a hotel. It's not the ritziest hotel in the world, but it's pretty nice, and I have the room all to myself. I was able to sprawl out over two beds without worrying about getting in anyone's way. When I noticed the clothes I was wearing needed ironing, I just took them off and ironed them. (In retrospect, I should have drawn the curtains first, even though I was on the tenth floor.) I took myself to the Olive Garden for dinner and felt no guilt whatsoever at picking through the bowl of salad for the tomatoes and croutons. Once safely back in my room, I watched SportsCenter while clipping my toenails. All told, it was a pretty relaxing night.
Laying in the darkness in my too-large bed, however, I grew a little wistful. Being on your own is pleasant for a while, but it would have been more so with one more. It was nice to sprawl my things over two beds, but it would have been nicer to have someone mad at me for taking up her bed. (We both could have fit in one bed easily, but that's another matter entirely.) It was a treat to have a solely tomato and crouton salad, but it would have been a delight to have fought with her for them, even though she doesn't particularly care for tomatoes. (It's a metaphor, friends. Stay with me.) I suppose this is what it feels like to be without one's "better half," to use the cliche.
I was awoken at about 12.30 to a vicious pounding at my door that filled the room. My roommmate (who didn't show up for work that morning, which led me to assume he wasn't coming at all) was shouting to me to open the door. While I had been pining for companionship, his wasn't exactly what I was yearning for.