In the middle of this semester, I was forced to move out of my dorm and into Seminary (it’s a very long story that has to do with #MoldGate.)
Seminary has its charms and quirks. It’s a definite perk to be (technically) off campus. I’m not awoken by drunk people shouting outside of Muss on Friday and Saturday nights anymore (and Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday nights; you people go hard).
Driving to campus is somewhat of a challenge. I have to plan way ahead now and give myself more time to get to class. People also don’t really believe me when I tell them how much of a hassle it is. It’s only a 5-10 minute drive depending on traffic around the circle, but no one accounts for how goddamn far away the stadium lot is from everything. And there are only 4 assigned Seminary spots so there’s been a few times where I’ve had to park even farther, and once risked parking in a visitor’s spot and got a parking ticket. (Don’t worry, I won the appeal (after DPS already billed me $30.))
Another perk of Seminary is that it has a kitchen. This was a perk because I got to downgrade my meal plan and even with the more expensive housing costs of Seminary, I’m still in the black now that I don’t have to pay for a regular meal plan.
Alas, the kitchen is not a perk for me, a culinarily challenged person. I’ve been eating pizza bites for most meals (which smell like wet dog when you heat them.) The appliances are also gas so it smells like, well, a gas station when you turn on the oven. I know that I should learn how to cook real meals and that I’ll eventually need that skill when I’m living alone for real sometime after graduation, but I just don’t feel like it’s worth it to buy a bunch of pots and pans I’m not gunna use again after the semester is over.
Some of the lesser charms of Seminary are that the walls are paper-thin. You might think your own dorm has this problem, but I can assure you that it is not as bad as Seminary’s. It’s not at all embarrassing that the walls of my bathroom and the adjacent apartment’s bathroom are so thin that I could hear the girl in the other apartment puking her guts out (puking girl, if you’re reading this, I hope your Friday night got better).
It’s also great that I can bless my down the hall neighbor when he sneezes, because I can hear it, every time.
Another sense that has benefited from the paper-thin walls is my sense of smell. Someone around me loves meat. I’m a vegetarian; I’m not an in-your-face-vegetarian, but I would love to object to the neighbor that seemingly cooks dog food, as the smell spreads through my apartment like the blood scene from The Shining. It just gets everywhere. I feel like it’s seeped into my hair and clothes.
Another one of my neighbors smells like they’re cooking a pot of cheese? Another one likes to cook his own farts, if that’s possible.
This is ultimately though, teaching me how to let go. I know that if I can hear my neighbors doing these embarrassing things, they can hear me scream when I have to trap a stinkbug under a cup. It’s teaching me how to live and let live, and try and bother the people around me to the least of my ability.
This experience has also taught me how to be alone. I’ve always been somewhat of an introvert. I’ve been a certified loner all my life, as only only children can say that they are. But I’ve reached a new level of alone in seminary. I don’t have classes on Friday, so I don’t leave my apartment. This means that I don’t see another human being from Friday through Sunday. I’ve learned from first hand experience that humans are social creatures. I’m open to living with someone else next year, just so I know that another person will see me regularly and speed up the amount of time it takes for my body to be found if I slip in the shower and die.