The people I live with, an older couple (though they don't seem that old to me... lively chickens, they are), are really incredible people, and they are so welcoming and generous and loving. I think, despite their occasional tendency to sing THE most annoying hymns at random (not that I'm hating on hymns, I actually really like them, but not THESE hymns) that they make an excellent model Christian couple-- they are not oppressive or judgmental. I really admire them, and I'm fairly certain I can never be like them. Anyway, they are ALWAYS helping people and letting people stay in their house (and, in the case of me, even though i pay them rent i also occasionally eat their food and use their Q-tips) and loaning money and doing everything they can (but they're not pushovers either-- I don't know how that works). They have this one weird old guy friend who is living off of disability and who, a few years ago, got an RV in order to make his life more affordable. He has a key to their house and they let him use their shower and their kitchen when he needs to. Recently, he fell from his RV ladder and broke his leg (which has been broken about 8 times, apparently) and now his RV is permanently in the VanderLinden driveway, and soon he will be taking up the guestroom until he heals up. There was no question about it, they all just knew that that was how it was going to happen. I love that. And also kind of hate it, because again, no way you would catch me doing that for a weird old guy (with no money). I also wouldn't be nice to me, either.
...That wasn't even my point. This week and weekend the Lindens have all of their daughters in the house-- the eldest, with her husband and her twin babies and her two incredibly stupid, uber-yappy dogs (ARGH ARGH KILL KILL), and the middle, my old weird room-mate from my apartment times (whom I understand a good deal better these days but still have nothing to say to), and the youngest, who flew in for the first time in a long time to say howdy-hey to the rents. It is a packed house, not to mention every night seems to bring company for dinners, Bible studies, and open-houses. Lots of baby stuff jam-packed everywhere, lots of dog-barking (Melinda and Kim have two- much better behaved- dogs, and the girls who rent the apartment in the back of the house have a dog as well.... it's times like this that make me realize having a cat would be a bad idea), lots of baby-crying, lots of people everywhere! I feel super awkward every time I come out of my cave-- I don't know why, I just never want to disturb anyone or make them think ill of my lack-of-money or my hermit ways. I don't know why it bothers me so much. I think I need my own apartment. I think that would be ideal living for me-- I could decorate it any way I wanted to and not have to worry about doing things at certain times because of others I happen to be living with (true, I used to think everyone wanted that sort of freedom, but it occurred to me recently that a good deal of people prefer to live with people---- who KNEW?! i get the significant other thing, true love and all that, but do you really want roomies for the rest of your life? really? i don't understand).
ANYWAY, all this musing is to say that I had to get out of there, and now here I am with a long road of writing ahead of me and a nice, sugary coffee drink (compliments of my mother... again) next to me.