Kids, the lease on my current home runs out on July 15. When I moved in with my roommates, there were four of us. As the last few weeks have passed by, the others have fallen out of the picture one by one. One of the guys got married. Another is about to do the same. And the third of my roommates hasn’t moved any of his things out yet, but he’s been out of town for a while. So it’s really just been me.And it’s freaking me out.

I know. Ever since I moved back to Virginia, I’ve wished I could afford to live alone, just like I did in North Carolina. I’m not saying that desire has changed. But when you’re used to living in a townhouse with three other guys, the sudden change is a little disturbing.

When all the other guys were here, I would hear a noise downstairs and I knew it was just one of them moving around in the kitchen or watching TV in the living room. Now when I hear a noise that comes from outside my room, I can only assume someone has broken into my house and is waiting for me to emerge so I can be murdered.I’ve never been able to properly close my bedroom door. Full disclosure: this townhouse isn’t all that well put together. The structure alters with the change in seasons. During the winter, for some reason, a rather large crack appears in my wall. Now that it’s summer, it looks as though there was never anything wrong with the wall. And no, I never spackled the thing. That’s a level of handiness that I have yet to achieve.

Anyway, the bedroom door… Whoever built this place did not properly hang the door in the doorway. It’s just slightly off. And so the door doesn’t catch in that doohickey that’s supposed to keep it from swinging open of its own accord. Therefore, the door cannot be locked, either. To get around this lack of privacy, I have jammed my guitar case between the door and my bed frame. Let’s see a homicidal maniac get in through that!

Of course, as shoddily as this house was made, I’m sure the material of which my bedroom door is made is sub-par. I expect that Jack Nicholson could easily tear through the thing like it was tissue paper, which it may actually be, in some places.I also find that I entertain the notion of Final Destination type scenarios when I’m alone. Falling down the stairs… Slipping in the shower… Choking on my dinner while I watch Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt… endless possibilities, really. And if it happens while I’m in my room, no one will ever know because they’ll never be able to get past my guitar case security system.