I remember before showing up for my first semester at BW one of the
things I was most nervous about was my roommate. Who was she? Where did she come from? Would we get along? There was also all of that
practical stuff to get out of the way—microwaves, carpets, lamps, etc.
The summer before my freshman year I exchanged a few messages with my
roommate-to-be sorting these things out. It helped make me feel
better that even if I was overwhelmed by all the new things that come
with the first semester of college at least I could go back to my room
and make some popcorn.
As it turns out, I had a great time living with my freshman roommate.
We studied wildly different things—she studied biology and I was
starting out with my philosophy major—but that was a good way to
separate the classroom from my living space. I soon became accustomed
to the sound of her alarm, as well as acquiring the skill to sleep
right through it. I also was always creeping back in later than her,
trying desperately to be quiet. Some nights I had more success than
others. One infamous night I knocked down my whole mug of pens and
pencils. Aghast, I was worried that I woke her up when I
heard her giggling from her side of the room. She had just gone to
bed and found my nighttime mishaps pretty entertaining, much to my relief.
I ended up rooming with someone different my next three years at BW, but
still to this day I sometimes grab a meal with my freshman roommate to
catch up on life, boyfriends, and classes.