The Untimely Domestication of Sophomores: Off-Campus Living

In my sophomore year at Ohio State, I decided to move off campus into a house with seven other girls. This was a decision that, at the time, I felt would be “fun” and “exciting”. What I’ve found, after just two weeks, is that parents do in fact know everything, and that my conception of “fun” has changed drastically.

Living in a crumbling structure with surfaces coated in beer from parties past is an endeavor in itself, but feeding and providing for myself has proven an even bigger challenge than sticky floors.

Breakfast is the easiest, considering it was something that, in dorms, one would provide for his or herself anyway. It is lunch and dinner where the lines blur and I suddenly feel the need to justify meals which no longer reflect balance or contain multiple food groups.

My mother sent me a recipe for meatloaf that she failed to mention makes two loaves. In the interest of not being wasteful, and because I am too lazy to make myself anything else, I have had meatloaf for the past week and a half for dinner and lunch. Everyday. I would like to award myself with two points for actually preparing the meal, and minus three for not being able to tweak the recipe enough to provide for one.

Apart from food, I was slapped in the face with another reality: dishes. In case you were wondering, dishes need to be done within a 10 minute time frame after food has been ingested. If one fails to do this, said food will be caked on plates and will not come off until you’ve given it either a) a good soak or b) some serious elbow grease.

This was actually something that I had practiced at home only because my mother would yell at me if I left a dish in the sink. This is something the parents of my roommates must have failed to do. I feel my mind screaming at the sight of a coffee cup with residue in the bottom or a bowl with oatmeal that will slowly transform to a concrete-like substance. At this discomfort, I also find that it is something my mother must have felt for years. I don’t know which is more disturbing: the fact that oatmeal scares me or that I am becoming my mother.

In my opinion, off campus living is more of a social experiment in which semi-adults are forced into domestication before they are ready– as if we were Chinchillas or some other exotic animal, which is overpriced and is probably not actually meant for domestication. We struggle with our new habitat and can’t quite cope with feeding ourselves or managing our own time. I hope that by the end of the year I will have it sorted out. All things take time I suppose. That, and I only have half a week left before my meatloaf runs out and it’s back to the drawing board.