Monterey Mischief, or In All That Time Since

I’m homeward bound on an airport shuttle bus after spending two days in Monterey with College Roommate Danielle and one persistent thought that’s been bouncing around my brain parts throughout the ride is that we shared a tiny one-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn thirteen years ago and in all that time since neither of us bothered to build back the boundaries we obliterated while living almost literally on top of one another as crazy college kids.

For the past two days we’ve shared a bed, a clothing store dressing room, salads ordered out of guilt, late-night pizza slices and close personal secrets and space typically reserved for those in long-term physical relationships.

And I think that’s lovely.

It’s comforting to know that to some I will always be a 21-year-old idiot.