Alone

Last year, after I paid off my debt and my roommate told me he was moving out, I had a decision to make: find a new roommate or go it alone. I could afford to live alone, but it would mean giving up travel and being more conservative financially than I've ever managed to be. I chose the roommate.

I've come to regret that choice. It's not that my new roommate is bad. He pays the rent, has a sweet disposition, and spends a lot of time running around the city. He'd be perfect if only he weren't such a slob. Three months into our cohabitation, I'm fed up with cleaning up after him. I didn't place many conditions on him to move in, but I was clear about my expectation of a thorough biweekly housecleaning. He's not doing it.

More than that, I've been feeling, as a single 40-year-old, that I shouldn't be dealing with anyone else's messes. It's time to make a sacrifice to get some privacy. So I've decided that I will live alone by 2012. The only questions are whether to stay in this apartment, and if so, how soon to evict the party bear.

I have a good deal on rent here. It's a two-bedroom apartment priced only slightly more than many one-bedroom apartments are going for in this area, but it has some deficiencies. The renovation was sloppy, the stove needs to be replaced, and so does the carpeting. The neighborhood has grown noisier as more bars have moved in, and with my landlord living across the hall, I sometimes feel like I'm under scrutiny.

A change of scenery could be good for me. I've been exploring other parts of Queens, and there are some really wonderful neighborhoods out here. Off Skillman Avenue in Sunnyside there's a small enclave of ivy-covered homes with gardens that looks like it was transplanted from England. On 90th Street in East Elmhurst there's a row of cottages so cute I could pinch myself, and in Jackson Heights almost every block has a different style of housing, not to mention the vibrant gay nightlife.

But if I stay here alone, I'd be the rare New Yorker with a spare bedroom. Sometimes when I'm vacuuming or cleaning the toilet, I fantasize about what I'd do with my roommate's space. I could move half my clothes in there, get a desk and have a home office, and get a futon couch/bed for company. I could list it on Ebab.de and make new European friends. The possibilities are endless.

But now I need to clean the bathroom sink of someone's hair…