Having a stranger as a roommate is without a doubt one of the weirder relationships I’ve ever known. He is the polar opposite of me, and I believe that literally. I’m quite certain that we, like magnets, may not be able to stand within a five foot radius of each other without great bodily force.
The house certainly was not built for this type of relationship. It is small. 1920’s small. The walls are not necessarily thin, but none of the doors form a tight seal, so you can literally hear every heavy sigh from any room. The bathroom is also small, and has two doors, each leading from a bedroom. So basically, when I open my bathroom door, I’m looking directly at my roommate in his bed because he constantly neglects to close his side. Also, he doesn’t flush onesies because he is a dirty hippie.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m okay with hippies, mostly, (although it must be said that there is a difference between pot-smoking free-love hippies and entitled, snobbish, ‘my carbon footprint is near non-existent’ hippies — Roommate places staunchly in the latter category) and am in great favor of recycling/composting/conserving, etc. But — do not let it mellow. Also, maybe drink more water. . .your kidneys are unhealthy.
Admittedly, I have a litany of complaints about him that would, if put into text, surely paint a poorer picture of my whiny impatience than his quirks. But in reality, they build to become a daily sneaky hate spiral, and once that happens, it’s hard to break the whole back down into it’s tiny annoying parts.
I’m not made for these kinds of interactions with near strangers. It is guaranteed that I will never tell this person that he should flush the toilet, but will opt instead to passive-aggresively flush before and after I use it so as to both illustrate my distaste for the back spray of stranger-pee that would surely hit my cheeks, and to erase any earthy good-will he had intended with such an action. It’s like sponsoring a vegetarian by eating twice as much meat.