An Airing Out of Grievances

(Warning: I reveal some very personal information about myself. Read with caution.)


Alright, it's been building up over a ninth-month period, and I can't take it anymore. Sorry, roommate, I have to do this:

- What is with the guitar playing? You practice the same songs over and over and OVER and you never get better. Come on, can't you practice something new? I'm sick of hearing Taylor Swift songs, especially the first ten seconds of "White Horse."

- Stop singing. Or if you must, don't do it while I'm in the room. Please. For the love of God, seriously. I remember you telling me that you were in your high school choir, and I remember going, "Oh, really? You don't look like you can." And guess what? I'M RIGHT. SO VERY VERY RIGHT. You can't sing. SO STOP SINGING.

- Why can't you sleep at normal hours? You know, around midnight or one. I'm the always the roommie who goes to bed at midnight and has to ask you to turn down the volume of whatever reality show you're watching that week and then I climb in bed and then I try to wait for you to go to sleep so I can GET MYSELF OFF. And then--and then--YOU NEVER GO TO BED. ARE YOU AN INSOMNIAC? Come on, stupid girl! I have needs and I can't do it with you AWAKE. Obviously, I can't do it during the day because I have class and whatnot so the only solution is nighttime. And you totally ruin it for me. Thanks *ever* so much.

- And what's with your Indian friend always barging into the room looking for you hmm? WITHOUT KNOCKING? One time, she came in while I was naked. Yep, completely starkers. Wonderful, huh? I already mentioned this to you, and I bet you didn't tell her. Right. I LOATHE YOUR FRIEND. I've put up with her rude barge-ins AAALLL year long, and I swear to all that is good and holy, if she comes in this last week it won't matter if I'm in my undies or not. Shit will go down.

- Finally finally FINALLY, I think you may have some kind of disorder. You know, like an inability or handicap. Would you like to know why I think this? I will tell you: because every day when I open the door to my room, I must go through a maze of misplaced shoes, articles of clothing, and make-up apparatus in order to reach my desk (or my book shelf.) All of which do not belong to me. Sometimes throughout the year, I wonder if it bothered you. All that shit on your side of the room spilling onto my side. But I guess not because you've allowed your refuse to fester and multiply like bacteria, insidiously infecting my things. Sigh...

WHY THE FUCK CAN'T YOU CLEAN YOUR GODDAMN ROOM? AT LEAST THROW AWAY YOUR FOOD STUFF IN THE GARBAGE CANS OUTSIDE THE ROOM SO I DON'T HAVE TO RUN INTO A WALL OF STENCHY MOLDY FOOD WAFTING FROM YOUR SIDE OF THE ROOM. I'M SO EMBARRASSED WHEN MY FRIENDS VISIT, DO YOU KNOW THAT? WUOFHSLDBLSJBDLJQW THANK GOD I'M GETTING A SINGLE NEXT YEAR.

/long-anticipated rant