My roommate left to visit her boyfriend in Ohio. She took a plane today and is staying there over the weekend. Of course, I’ve learned all of this via overhearing and other indirect means, like happening to glance at her calendar which read, “Visiting John!!!” amid little pink hearts.
But assuming I hadn’t seen that, and assuming I hadn’t been to subject to overhearing her high-volumed conversations with her friends and our floormates, I would truthfully have no idea where she was going, or even the simple fact that she was going anywhere in the first place.
My. Roommate. Tells. Me. Nothing.
I have no idea why she feels the need to not tell me anything. I don’t know when this communication blockade began. We talk, but say nothing meaningful. I’m not even asking for details, simply for a courteous notification that she’ll be out. I never know these things, though. She has, on repeated occasion, failed to tell me she was sleeping in her friends’ room, leading to me sleeping with the lights half on and the door wide open, thinking she was to come back. If I can’t be notified of small moments like these, sure I can’t expect to be informed of her interstate, off-campus excursions.
Sometimes, I’m tempted to put out a missing persons’ alert on her.
It doesn’t upset me, it just irritates me. And sometimes, this irritation (piled with the annoyance that stems from the other annoying things she does) leads me to make nasty plans and schemes to get back at her (see Roommate Confessions on CollegeHumor.com, they crack me up), but being a firm believer that what goes around comes around, I refrain from doing so. I mean, I suppose I could have it worse. She isn’t a crackwhore. She’s just annoying. And sometimes she says things that make me want to bash my head against my desk and weep for the future of humanity. I suppose, in the end, none of this merits me hiding Ziploc baggies of molding cheese in her drawers (yes, I’ve considered it).
Alright, enough of this ranting for now.