Alex(andria)

One might assume that rooming with an all-star tennis player, one might be living with a jock. Copies of Maxim, FHM and Stuff will be strewn about the living room, with perhaps a few old issues of Reader's Digest making it into the bathroom, rescued from his parents' home and discovered in the bottom of a box of tennis shoes and football equipment.

Not so.

Not only does my new roommate subscribe to The Economist and The New Yorker, in unpacking he revealed he is the proud owner of lavender sheets and bright floral-printed plates. He also gets the bigger bedroom, because unlike most male/female partnerships, he has more possessions.

Alex claims he's just secure in his masculinity. Be that as it may...

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In other news, I've devoted the past week to moving. Feeling torn between two apartments, with half my stuff at one place and half at another, has only compounded the stress of starting a new job with a two-and-a-half hour commute each day. Add to that monthly hormonal fluctuations, plus the realisation you're losing your hair, and you've got yourself a recipe for a nervous breakdown. So I took the day off of work yesterday, caught up on sleep, and unpacked my paltry belongings. This weekend I hope to move the rest of my things, clean my old apartment, and begin exploring my new neighborhood. Oh yeah, and finally have some fun.