If you live with roommates, you know the drill. There’s always something: the thermostat wars, the sink full of dishes, the stolen milk, and the unspoken resentment that builds like static electricity. I’ve been through three different shared apartments in five years. I’ve had the chaotic party house, the sterile “don’t touch anything” museum, and the passive-aggressive sticky-note hellscape.
Patreon: The primary source for the series, including the Full Animation and regular Progress Updates. all my roommates love 10
To understand why we love 10, you have to understand where we started. My roommates are diverse: Mark, a night-shift nurse; Jenna, a remote graphic designer who works from the living room; Carlos, a culinary student who cooks elaborate meals at 11 p.m.; and me, a morning person who likes quiet coffee at 6 a.m. All My Roommates Love 10: The Magic Number
Then came Marcus, who loved ten as a rhythm. He was a drummer, and he practiced for exactly ten minutes every hour, every day, like a monk with a metronome. Ten minutes of scales. Ten minutes of polyrhythms. Ten minutes of silence. He said that ten was the smallest number that felt like a cycle—a complete breath in and out. When I asked him why not eight or twelve, he just smiled and tapped ten times on the kitchen counter. Because, he said, ten fits in the hands. He showed me that ten is bodily. It’s the sum of our fingers, the space between heartbeats in a moment of panic. Marcus loved ten because it was human-sized—big enough to matter, small enough to hold. I’ve had the chaotic party house, the sterile
Their friends often found themselves puzzled by the significance of the number 10 in their lives, but they couldn't help but be drawn into the infectious enthusiasm that surrounded it. It wasn't just about the number; it was about the sense of community and shared discovery it represented.