Your new roomate potentially thinks you are boring because instead of having a social life or ever leaving the house. . .
. . .you sit around every Friday and Saturday night counting the amount of medication you are taking. (Which just for the record is up to three different kinds of eyedrops and three kinds of cream for eczema around my eyes. Fun.)
You're ignored on the streetcar and suddenly have an idea of what it's like when a woman enters her "invisible years." You know you should be learning a valuable life-changing lesson about inner beauty from not wearing makeup for over a month, but instead your self-esteem takes a punch to the stomach. Your glasses get more use than they have in years, but all you can remember is being the first kid in your elementary school class to wear glasses, the first one to be called four eyes, and how everyone laughed whenever a basketball would hit you square in the face and knock you blind. You get more homework done, spend less money and lose weight from not drinking, but wonder if there's a larger cost.
You rent a lot of shitty indie movies and television shows on DVD. You start to think that all your non-journalism friends may have forgotten you exist.
You burn incense, bake a lot of muffins, take pleasure in washing the dishes, talk to the dead mouse in your wall, whine to your boyfriend incessently to the point where he joins your new roomate in thinking you're boring, and you cry a little too often.
And that's what it's like having an eye infection for two months.