September #20

I remember her,
my freshman year roommate.
She was peppy,
friendly,
discontented with me -
I was never there,
worked too much,
had my boyfriend over
too frequently.
She liked to drink,
sometimes brought stange boys home,
and we readily,
quickly divided our rooms
one for each.
But she was no worse than I -
sometimes, I even think, better.
The point is we tried,
muddled along,
made what we could of it.