The good thing about living alone: walking around naked.
The bad thing about living alone: it gets a little chilly. And quiet.
It’s not the most fascinating feeling witnessing the transformation of a home to a house. And even more so, parting ways with each loving member on colder terms than one would prefer. You begin to appreciate the shrill laughter, and thunderous stomps up and down the stairs, the echoing episodes of Bad Girls Club.
Actually, I take back the latter—that show is the worst thing to ever happen to my life.
No.5 - Gone, following a dramatic night and uncomfortable morning, as eggs and OJ were had over an emergency house meeting. By unfortunate coincidence, No.5 was scheduled to leave that day anyway, leaving little to no time for us to mend the situation. Only time would mend the friendship.
No.4 - Gone, after 3 or 4 years of on again-off again, do I love you-do I not, he loves me-he loves me not, fuck you-fuck you not, is he the one-is he not. Gone, after a final is it over-it sure is.
No.3 - Gone, too soon, but not soon enough. I wish No.3 were still here. And probably would be had it not been for No.2.
No.2 - Fuck you and the friendship that used to be. You come in number 2 to the Bad Girls Club.
