Tuesday night, I went to the Dixie Chicks concert with some friends. In the crowd of almost 15,000 I managed to run into the two sets of friends I knew were going to the show, as well as my roommate.
Last night, I went to see “Who Killed the Electric Car” (which was a fascinating, painful story. You should see it). With the exception of Scott, with whom I was going to the movie, I hadn’t mentioned to anyone that I was going to see it. After the movie was over, I turned around in the lobby of the Ritz Bourse, and came face to face with my roommate. It was slightly shocking for a moment, until we both burst out laughing.
I had been spending a little time second-guessing my roommate choice recently, a sort of renter’s remorse in the first couple of weeks of living together. I think that it’s just a natural part of the adjustment process, as I get used to his ways of operating in the world. But running into him, two nights in a row, at the same activities in which I was partaking, has made me feel absolutely confident that I made the right choice. I’m interpreting it as the universe’s way of telling me that we are good compatible roommates.
Either that or he’s stalking me. But right now, my money’s on option one.