Home > Life or something like it > The drama just keeps getting better and better

The drama just keeps getting better and better


Entry 02/09/2012 10:08:16 AM – Mentat 629

Yep, you guessed it — it’s laundry day… A couple of days late because I’ve been ill with a plethora of issues; nerves, rage, what can only be a stomach virus (given my lack of appetite; though rage is a damn good contributor to lack of appetite), insomnia (from the rage mainly, now that it’s out of my system I’m sleeping more soundly). Even perhaps the mix of the yearly tonsillitis, but I’m not getting the usual symptoms that come along with that. — if anything my throat hasn’t been sore as it usually should be — even though my sinuses are frequently blocking up, and I’m finding myself sneezing quite a lot. The roommate’s been sick as a dog — and I suspect that whatever virus he’s come in contact with is in the house. Fortunately for me, I avoid him most of the time so whatever he’s got I’ve only had the minimum of exposure to as I’ve been staying to my room more.

Oh and I did confront him — but I didn’t do it the night of the last entry. Seems that for about three days of it, he had either stayed out of the house or had friends over. At first I thought he was doing it because he suspected that I was going to confront him about it, but the more that I think about it, the more I realize just how oblivious he is to the signals I send off. Hell, he’s oblivious to everyone’s signals other than his own. I confronted him at the beginning of the week (Monday), after it hit me of his announcement that in March he’ll be traveling to Louisiana with his girlfriend for a couple of weeks.

And just when I thought I had reached the limits of my rage, too.

You see, I hate confrontation. It’s not because I don’t like the thought of yelling, screaming, throwing things, etc. It’s the fact that when I’ve reached the end of my patience, and all that’s left is the red of rage — the only thing I want to do is tear someone’s head off. With all that anger, I end up with an awful amount of adrenaline going through my system, and if the wrong thing is said to me at the wrong time — I will launch at the person… Physically. It happens invariably whenever I’ve been saying things for weeks at a time and getting the distinct impression that I’m being ignored.

With my roommate, I’m definitely being ignored, pushed off, given excuses and platitudes and empty-apologies. I’ve been mentioning things to weeks about him about his cardboard portfolio boxes that have been leaning up against the fridge since we had moved in and that they need to find a better place.

He would say to me, “yeah I know… But when you see me motivate, you’ll see things get done.”

He said that for months.

When he added the easel, paint supplies and the unfinished portrait of his two daughters.. Well, you already know that story and for the last month he’s done jack-all with any of that other than work on it one night, and left un-dried paint on the palette, which Wilma got into and put kitty prints all over the floor and the pane of one of the kitchen windows.

And I mentioned to him at least three times that the litterbox was smelling pretty rank and needing to be changed. I got “I’m poor” excuses. Poor indeed. No problem with getting beer and cigarettes poor, but the litterbox… he can’t be assed…

I know, old story… Though I digress.

So he mentioned during the weekend of his road trip to Louisiana with the girlfriend. I let it go consciously, but come 3 in the morning when I suddenly woke up and heard him muttering about he feels like he’s smoking “cardboard”. Well that’s when rage got the better of me.

I swallowed my rage and did my best to go through my routine (at 4 in the morning when I couldn’t lay in bed any more), and by sunup I decided to work through my rage and clean the house.

He woke up sometime at the end of my cleaning the bathroom and long after I was able to get through the stench and my disgust of cleaning the litterbox. Really — it was caked from bottom to top with cat urine. So you can imagine what kind of overwhelming stench that was trying to get it all out.

He shuffled into the kitchen looking at me and said, “you got to that before I did.”

Yes, I did and launched, “I’m going to say this as civilly as possible without taking your head off. That was positively disgusting what you did. If that box ever gets to that state again, I swear I will be calling the ASPCA and getting your cats pounded.”

“I’m sorry,” he began.

“No you’re not. If you were sorry, you would’ve learned your lesson the last three times this happened. You haven’t. I also expect you to pay me back the money you owe me for rent and bills in two weeks, and failing that, there will be hell to pay.” I pointed at the portfolio boxes and the easel and painting, “and you need to do something about this. You’ve been promising to do something for four months and I’ve had it looking at this crap sitting around doing nothing.”

I walked over to the stove and pulled off the stove top liners, “and this? Vile. You’ve been living here for four months and you’ve done fuck-all about cleaning the messes you make. Believe me, I know you haven’t cleaned because I’ve left messes intentionally during the times you’ve been here, and all you’ve done is added to the great and oil that you’ve left on the stove and floor,” and then I remembered one morning waking up and walking on what could only be described as a dirt bomb exploded on the floor of the kitchen, and continued, “and whatever the hell you did on the floor the other night was left unswept. Really? What the fuck were you thinking?”

“Shape up, mister,” I ended with and finished cleaning the remaining of the house.

He left me alone ’til last night when I was having a hell of time trying to keep food down and started with, “I picked up cat litter and I’m sorry I didn’t get to it.”

“Seriously Mark, sorry doesn’t cut it anymore,” I quipped back, “I have eyes and I have a long memory. If you can mooch off your friends for beer and cigarettes, you can mooch off of them for some spare change to buy cat litter and cat food. I’m quite serious about calling the ASPCA and will the instant you screw this up.”

“Well, let’s work with getting the home harmonious,” he said on his way out the door muttering about some dramatic mission he needs to go on that involves the cat carriers and his girlfriend.”

Heh… Harmonious.

The household is surprisingly harmonious when he’s not there (or he’s unconscious). Whiskey will come into the room the instant the door is open to perch himself at the edge of the bed looking for attention. Wilma will wait on the space heater (when it’s not on) and looks forward to me to ensuring her dry cat food bowl is filled and after my shower, she usually looks forward to me throwing kibble across the floor which she’ll chase and catch with a paw (she hasn’t worked out how to eat it out of her paw like my aunt’s cat Tigger can). And Saucy? Well, Saucy is just a jealous cow that will come a running when Whiskey or Wilma get attention, and will pretty much leave me alone given I’ve had it up to here (hand over the top of my head) with her going into heat whenever the weather gets above 55 F (11.1 C).

Speaking of, I need to put that on the list of demands the next time I see Mark awake, but that’s something for another time.

Harmonious *snorts*.

The instant that he wakes up the cats come clamoring into my room to hide and sleep. The cats also tend to run for their lives whenever they see him shambling about the house. Oh, it’s not that I’ve ever caught him abusing them. Quite the contrary. He doesn’t give them half the attention they need, positively no discipline in how to act or who the alpha is in the house, and he tends to randomly manhandle them whenever he wants to give them a petting.

Whenever he’s up, it’s noise from the moment he’s smoked his first three cigs of the morning (well when he wakes up. He generally waked up around 4 PM. It’s noise well until 11 PM when he knows he’s got to quite down or else the downstairs neighbors call the landlord to complain about the noise he’s making. It’s some sort of drama that calls attention to how wonderful he is and how the world is doing him wrong in some manner or another.

Heh, perhaps he needs to learn that harmony starts with self. But who am I fooling. He’s middle-aged. If he hasn’t learned this lesson by now, chances are he’ll never learn it.

So in other news, there was quite a commotion over the weekend from one of the next door neighbors. Went to check my mail when it had quieted down and saw that there was a moving van in the parking lot. Found out a couple of hours later (from the landlord that was over), that 4 of the 6 residents (read: the family that dominated the apartment complex for the last 10 years) are moving out. According to what the landlord was telling me, the downstairs neighbors will be moving out at the end of the month. Good thing, given I was getting tired of his complaining about Mark and his constant noise after 10 PM.

The reason they’re moving out is because of the “rats” (read: Field Mice). I’ve seen the droppings when I was checking the water heater and having to reset the circuit breakers because Mark forgot that he was running the Microwave and started the cyclotron of a toaster oven (trips the circuit every time). Haven’t seen any of the evidence in my apartment, but then again we have three cats with claws, and so far *knocking on wood* I haven’t had to clean up any mouse remains.

Though I did get a look at the apartment as they were moving out and was pretty amazed on how dirty/filthy it was… In fact with all the crap and squalor I saw on the floor when all the furniture had been removed, it actually made Mark look like a neatnick. It’s no wonder there’s a mouse problem on the second floor, and I can only imagine what it looks like on the first.

So it’s only a matter of time before they forage into the apartment now when the whole of the first floor, part of the second, and part of the third floor are moved out. And I’ll also get to see what kind of mousers the cats are as well. (I suspect Wilma definitely will be, as she’s feral and spent months living in the hole in a wall in Mark’s place in Attleboro).

Oh and the beta test job ended yesterday, a couple of weeks ahead of schedule. It was good work, though really eye-strenuous. I still won’t be able to talk about the job until it’s been released, though I’ve been promised that along with the paycheck that my name’s going to be listed in the end credits of the final release. Now I need to look into finding a “real” job once again. Woo-hoo. A little immortalization before the game goes to abandon-ware. I would love to do more work like that as it’s a rare feature of being able to work from home. Better luck next time, eh?

Well, that’s about it for the time being. Now that I’m home I need to look for something to eat as well get out of the house for a couple of hours as I didn’t get the chance to get out yesterday (as I said, I wasn’t feeling very well). Until the next time.

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