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November 3, 2007

Sorry my posts are turning this blog into, but...

... I have had such a weird morning, and it's not even 9 a.m.

As you know, I share a bathroom with a roommate I alternately call The Thing, or The Flatulent One, or That Lump of Flesh. This bathroom connects to my room through my closet, so if I leave the door between my room and closet open I can see if the light is on in the bathroom without leaving my bed. There are two downsides to this: a. I can more clearly hear the cacophony of his morning noises and b. this was how I discovered that he now chooses to shower in the dark, which totally creeps me out.

This morning I awoke at 8 a.m. and desired a trip to the W.C. But there was not only a strip of light shining beneath the bathroom door, I could hear that the fan was on. "That's odd," I thought to myself. "The Thing hasn't gotten up before 9 any day this week (aside: I think he's been laid off/fired), and he's up at 8 on a Saturday morning? Hmm." Thinking that normal humans might forget to turn off the light or the fan, but not both, when leaving the bathroom, I had little reason to believe he wasn't actually in there. So I waited. And waited. And waited. Finally, after a half-hour I pressed my ear up to the door and, upon hearing nothing but the whir of the fan, knocked. Nada. Fearing he might be passed out on the floor in a pool of his own vomit and excrement, I hesitantly opened the door. No one in there. WTF.

After checking my email and usual news sites, I decided to take The Good Roommate up on an offer to watch his copy of Enemy of the State, which was housed in a bookshelf in the living room. As I exited my room, a larger-than-usual opening of the curtains in The Thing's room caught my eye (aside: The Thing lives in what is supposed to be a sun room, with sliding glass doors separating it from the main living area. He has long curtains up for his privacy). I could see he wasn't in his bed. "That's odd," I thought to myself. "Where could he have gone so early on a Saturday morning? Perhaps he never came home. Could he possibly be with a lady friend?" Chuckling to myself with the high unlikeliness of that being even remotely true, I walked across the living room and scanned the movie titles until I found what I was looking for.

I heard some rustling behind me. Figuring it was just the pipes creaking or the air turning on or off, I ignored it. Then I heard some distinctly human noises. I turned around and there he was, struggling to prop himself up on the couch. Not for the first time, and probably not even close to the last, a scream caught in my throat upon seeing him (aside: Sometimes I'll be watching TV, thinking I'm alone in the apartment, when I'll catch him staring at me, his face seemingly floating in a crack of the curtains of his room. Once I was straightening my hair with the bathroom door open, and I saw his face bobbing around in the mirror. When I looked back, he had already scurried back to his room).

Not knowing what to do or say, which is often the case in my encounters with It, I wordlessly returned to my room, clutching Enemy of the State in my hand and wishing I didn't have one living in such proximity.

1 comment:

  1. Kudos to you Nugs, you cheered me up. As sucky as my life may be, you have to dwell with It. Does it have red hair by any chance?. Another very entertaining account--