Roommates

Unlike a lot of people, I enjoy being alone. I love when I can spend time by myself. It’s like when I’m alone, I can finally drop all the masks and just be myself. It’s so peaceful. Even when I was  a teenager living at home, I didn’t spend hours texting or talking on the phone with my friends like other girls my age. I preferred reading a book or watching a movie on my own. My mother always thought this was weird for a girl of sixteen. She was always telling me to go and hang out with my friends. I knew I was different, but I figured once I grew up, I would start liking people’s company better. Well, I haven’t.

I’m now twenty two and I am still the same as far as I can tell. In fact, I suspect I’ve become worse. When I was sixteen, I would never be rude and ask someone to leave me alone so I can have some peace. Now, I would have no qualms doing that.

Which brings me to the matter of roommates. See, I would love to rent a room just for myself, but my infinitesimal salary doesn’t allow me such luxuries. I have no choice but to go for a shared room. But the thing is I am incredibly unlucky when it comes to roommates. I always get the bad ones.

My very first roommate was in college. To put it plainly, she was a passive-aggressive bitch. She hated it when I touched her things. And when I say touched, I mean touched. I didn’t use any of her stuff. If I moved one of her books from the table to the bed, she would give me the evil eye. If I was working on a project late at night, she would piss and moan about how she couldn’t sleep with the lights on and I would be forced to work outside the room just to be away from her constant whining. If she found hair on the floor, she always assumed it was mine and sulked. During exams, she would read ALOUD like a fucking kid and would get mad if I told her to keep it down. And when she was mad at me, she wouldn’t tell me if she was angry or what she was angry about. She would bang doors. She would intentionally take long baths so that I would be late to class. She would lock me out of the room and not pick up my calls. Man, how I hated her. I still do. Oh, and she also smelled gross. God, she was the worst roommate I have had till date. I’m glad my two years with her are over.

My next roommate was sweet enough I guess. She was not all that bad. But for the one year that I roomed with her, I didn’t get a good night’s sleep. Because she was always on the phone with her long-distance boyfriend at night, fighting and crying. Her snivelling sounds would reach my ears even when I was blasting rock music in my headphones.

My next roommate was okay. I have no complaints about her except maybe… No, strike that, I have no complaints about her. She was sweet, friendly and kept to herself. She took kinda long showers (I’m talking forty five to sixty minute showers), but it was a small price to pay. I liked her.

Then, there is my current roommate. I wouldn’t describe her as a bitch, but there is something definitely a bit off with her. She is still in college and at first, she seemed pretty nice. She seemed a bit nervous about rooming with me. Maybe I was her first roomie. Or maybe she thought since I was older than her, I wouldn’t like her. I dunno. Anyway, at first things seemed okay. But then the crazy started. She ate my food without asking me. She wore my shoes without asking me and now they’re all stretched out. See, I don’t mind my roomies borrowing stuff from me, but they have to ask first. Borrowing is a privilege, not a right. She rifles through my stuff when I’m not in the room. I paid for her dinner once and she didn’t return the money. She borrowed money from me once and when she paid me back, I didn’t count it. That was a mistake because the amount was lesser than what she owed me. She lies. She is manipulative. She nicks small stuff from me like clips. And on top of that, she doesn’t SHUT UP. She is constantly talking my ears off. In short, she seems annoying, unstable and untrustworthy. I want to move out really bad.

After working my ass off at my office, I just want to come back to my room and unwind. But I have to put up with this brat’s bullshit instead. Fuck me.

Nothingness

Sometimes I feel like I’m floating aimless in a sea, not interested in the who’s and what’s around me. All that I’m aware of are me and my thoughts. Sometimes there isn’t even that. I stare blankly into space and there is not a single thought going through my mind. It’s like I’m being pulled into a vacuum and my thoughts are in limbo, not fully formed, impossible to decipher. Sometimes I think there is something wrong with me. No, I know there is something wrong with me. Normal people have thoughts, opinions, interests, emotions. Normal people care.

I used to be one of those normal people. I wanted to be a writer. I dreamed of changing the world with my words. I dreamed of finding love. I had an opinion on anything and everything. I cared. Now? Not so much. I probably wouldn’t give two shits if a car accident or something took my life right now. I’ve become lazy, uninspired, complacent. I can’t find inspiration in anything. I don’t yearn for love anymore. I am content with solitude and I am only twenty two!

When I do interact with people, it’s superficial. I don’t – I can’t open up. There is a wall around me no one seems to be able to break down. Not that I want anyone to. They would find nothing good in there.

I’m constantly trying to put some distance in between myself and my family – the only people who have, I believe, ever loved me. And that’s probably only because we’re family.

I don’t understand me. Is this a phase I’m going through? If this is an existential crisis that I am going through, then I have been going through it for the past six years.

All I know is that I am discontent. I want more. But I don’t know what I want. Even though my life is anything but empty, all I see, hear and feel is nothingness.

24 hours is just not enough!

If you could have any superpower, what would it be?

I don’t know about you, but my answer to that has always been “The ability to live without sleep.”

Spending six to eight hours a day sleeping sounds to me like a big waste of time, especially when I could be doing something interesting in those eight hours. And having a day job doesn’t help either.

After I come home from work, I have hardly three hours to pursue my interests before sleep starts knocking on my door. How am I supposed to read, write, sketch, watch movies, listen to music and practice keyboard in those three hours?

So, if there are any vampires out there looking for someone to turn, just contact me. I don’t even mind the messy blood drinking part. I just don’t want to sleep.