It's a little ridiculous that we don't just shout through the walls, but I appreciate the inherent passivity that comes with telecommunicating rather than barging into bedrooms to ask if one of them has a stapler. Unfortunately, this can become problematic when we text each other in a room full of our peers, especially when we then lose our stone-cold composure and start laughing uncontrollably. About shitting.
Real mature.
Greetings, Readers.
Things are finally settled and I'm moving to Mississippi on Sunday. School starts in a few weeks and I need to get back in the habit of going to bed early and drinking less than 8 beers a night. Hell, next time my fair state sees me I'll be further in debt with another nice diploma. So here I am, winding down my last few hours in Texas, eating my last few tacos, packing my last few boxes, and generally considering how I can write a dedicatory post to my roommates, past and present. I had originally intended to write each of them a letter, but ultimately decided against it. I wanted to keep the sentiment genuine and thoughtful without writing a novel because I ate a cookie. Instead I want to post a series of photos from my time here in Austin, with the people I came to know and live with for the past 4 years. I'll keep the dedication short: y'all made this happen perfectly, exactly as it should have, in no way I could have ever expected.
Hey, y'all.
Long time, no post. I've been busy, I suppose, but mostly I didn't have much to blog about with my roommate in school for the semester. Let me tell you, though, now that he's on summer vacation I'll have an arsenal of verbal attack.
So what's new with us? Well, recently, my roommate has taken to sleeping in the living room. Why? Apparently my cat (who hates my roommate) peed on his bed because he hadn't fed them while I was out of town for a few days. Instead of cleaning it up, feeding the cats, and keeping his bedroom door closed while he's away or asleep, he though it would be a better idea to relocate to the couch, and, of course, leave his bedroom door open still. For how long? "Till I think the cats won't go in my room anymore," says he. My roommate must be an animal behavioral psychologist when I'm not looking.
This of course opens up a whole series of problems, the main one being that I am always the first awake and I enjoy my time in the common area of the house cooking, listening to music, and responding to emails and phone calls for school and work. The cats like being with me outside of my bedroom where they can look out the back door and I can get shit done away from my usual work area.
Today I went to make myself some lunch when I heard, "Can you keep it down? I'm sleeping." Beg your pardon, sir, I understand it's the wee hours of the afternoon. You keep me up playing video games with an entire attitude of teenagers shouting "FAGGOT" and "PUSSY" in my house at 2 or 3 in the morning while sucking a big one at Wii games meant for children, but I really ought to be a little more considerate and sensitive to your problems.
Anyway, I accidentally dropped 4 pans and let the kettle whistle for about half a minute after I told him I'd be quieter. Woops...
My roommate is doing the dishes, maybe for the first time.
Small steps in the right direction.
Howdy, y'all. It's been a while since I updated with new and exciting tales of roommates and laughter and fun, but I feel like all I'd want to do lately is bitch and moan. No one wants to read about how much I think my roommate has a pent-up anger issue. No one really wants to read about my roommate's obsession with video games and how his friends try to tell me I'm some kind of detached, antisocial nut for having a Blackberry and a Twitter account when they themselves would leave all doors and windows closed and never leave the house if they could extract vitamin-D from thin, artificially cooled, and pot-laden air. Frankly, I'm finding these things hard to write about, but fear not, dear readers. I will recount to you tales of yore, when my housemates and I did things together, and spoke more than a handful of words daily. But that day is not today.
I don't know. Give me like a week.
A little while ago, my roommate asked to use my computer. We were sitting in the living room watching a movie, and my computer happened to be in the chair next to me so I handed it to him. After having broken 2 of my wine glasses, he offered to buy me more, and I thought he was looking at the ones I wanted online since he asked me,"The wine glasses you saw were at Target, right?" when he asked for my laptop. After a few minutes, he closed it, handed it back to me, and I set it aside.
Just now I got the urge to check the weather forecast, and when I opened my computer, I had an unfinished game of solitaire on my desktop. Motherfucker seriously stopped watching Le feu follet with me to play solitaire. On my computer. And then skipped back a chapter in the movie because he missed it.
What?
Lately I've been doing yoga in the morning and at night. Of course, morning for me is about 11am, but that's what happens when you work nights. I don't really buy into the meditative elements behind yoga, but I enjoy the peace and quiet that comes from having my feet twisted behind my head.
This morning, I was midway through a shoulder-stand when I heard some commotion from outside my bedroom door. Then I heard the shower run for not more than 5 minutes, followed by a shout about my roommate evidently having to work today. I came down from my shoulder-stand and asked what the hell he was yapping about. He was 25 minutes late by the time he left the apartment.
I wonder what he uses that Moleskine notebook for if not to write down class assignments and a work schedule. Maybe "go to sleep" and "wake up" are in there along with a tentative grocery list of "orange juice, potato chips, and toilet paper." And he gets after me for writing down "everything" like "The Oscars" and "Kite Festival - Roy in town" as if they were pointless things that didn't demand attention. He had previously made some snide remark at me for having a planner after having graduated college.
"What do you have to even write in there?"
"I don't know. My work schedule, maybe."
