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Torn.

February 13, 2008

When you’re living in a million-dollar house, rent free, it’s really hard not to just suck up the fact that your roommate’s a crazy fool and deal with it. But I think it’s time to go.

She has a “major” showing today — one that left her up all night mopping the floors and scrubbing the window sills with a toothbrush and polishing the tiles one by one, and had her turning on every light in the house at 5 am — because apparently, she can’t have trusted me to do it at 8 when I left. She is hoping that this gal will make an offer on her place, but there is a part of me that hopes she doesn’t. I feel guilty for that, but knowing that a) we have no place to live if this home sells, and b) we have no money with which to move on anyway and c) her foreclosure date was pushed out another 6 months, it’s easy to hope that yet another looker will lose interest and we can continue to live there a little bit longer without paying rent (Meanwhile, I am saving as much as I can toward my moving fund).

But this morning, I realized that I just need to leave. She is getting on my nerves to the point that I lock myself in my room when she’s home, and find reasons not to be there whenever possible. I feel like a hostage in my own mind, because god forbid I can just say to her, “you are an insecure, lonely, dim-witted annoyance!” like I really want to. I’ve tried to tell her in other, more subliminal ways, these things, but as you could guess, she just doesn’t get it. When I complain to my boyfriend, he tells me to suck it up, then reminds me that I’m living in a million dollar house for free. Oh what I would give to live in a tiny apartment and pay too much in rent again.

What is even more frustrating is knowing that she told her “boyfriend” that I’m her best friend and she doesn’t know what she would do without me. To be perfectly honest, I don’t know what she would do either. The girl can’t even do laundry right (which I only recently discovered when she kindly washed all of Alissa’s clothes with her blacks — and Alissa’s wardrobe is now a dingy hue of gray. Grr.), so I don’t know how she is going to survive on her own. But I can’t be her crutch any more. For my own sanity, I really need to move on.

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