Let’s play a game! I tell you how I’ve been spending most evenings the last three weeks, and you’ll guess what I’ve been up to. I’ve been… sending emails and texts to random people of interest; asking complete strangers questions in a desperate attempt to gauge their lifestyle; and, frantically employing techniques to calm my nerves prior to meeting said randoms. Nerves created by possibility of pending rejection.

Did you take a guess? Pick online dating?

If you did, you’d be incorrect.

I’ve been house-hunting. But not any type of house-hunting. To be more specific, share-house hunting!

You’d be forgiven to think I’ve been on the dating scene, because quite frankly that’s how the last few weeks have felt. The frantic rigmarole of searching for a suitable new home has left me feeling a little exposed, vulnerable and somewhat desensitised to meeting new people.

It is exhausting, and I need a break! By potential housemate date #11 I’ve had to start pep talking myself into believing that I will eventually meet The One.

Refreshing my emails has become an obsession, and trawling All Homes and Gumtree seems to be my favourite pastime. I’ve even started over-analysing communication to and from potential suitors. Do I seem too keen? Am I cool enough? Not funny enough? Too funny? Did I talk too much? Oh my, I’ve got a headache just thinking about it!

It’s been several years since I last did the share house thing – I’m currently living by myself in hipster Turner and consequently ticking another adventure on my bucket list.

Don’t be quick too judge; there was a time when I was a mature and responsible adult. Before my current Bridget Jones style adventure I was shacked-up with my ex for a few years in a three bedroom house in Gungahlin. I thought I was living the dream by doing the newly loved up defacto thing, and I had no plans to house-share again. But one thing has led to another – as I’m learning it does – and I find myself preparing to re-enter the world of negotiating ducted heating temperature settings, shared bathrooms, separate fridge and pantry space, and rotating cleaning rosters.

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And quite frankly, the prospect is much more daunting this time around. I’m a little worried about giving up the little first-world luxuries in life; ironing in my undies, letting the dirty dishes pile up because life’s too short to be chained to the sink, and having random friends pop over with bottles of wine at all hours of the day, and night!

A very wise woman recently termed my current home my ‘transition house’; the transition from relationship back to single and independent life. My bachelorette pad has been my saviour during this time, and I’m bitterly disappointed the landlords have decided to sell.

But I’ve learnt that homes, like people, come in and out of your life with a purpose. And that’s why at the age of early 30s something I’m back in the position of share housing. I keep reminding myself that this has happened for a reason. My gut tells me it’s definitely a forced step toward something bigger and better, and the move will keep me looking forward.

So where to now?

The funny thing is on date #12 I found The One. So I wore my heart on my sleeve, and declared my interest in something a bit more serious with them. And… I… was… REJECTED [insert gasp here] hands-down.

In fact, not only did they not return my call, but eventually sent me a pity email to the effect of “for all it’s worth, you were always in the running, but we’ve decided to offer the room to someone else.” Note: They decided to offer the room?! So basically they haven’t actually offered the room, they’ve just decided they just don’t want ME in the room!

They must have found me too funny…

So, heart-broken, I’ve decided to do what’s best in times like these.

I’ve packed a suitcase or five and set a date to couch surf at my BFF’s home for a while. She has a warm spare room, copious bottles of wine and unlimited stores of laughter.

And as she’s already seen me in my undies, I might just offer to do her ironing.

Young woman holding house in her hands from shutterstock.com