I took a sweet 36 hour trip to Georgia this weekend during which the following things of interest happened:
I saw a ballroom dance performance.
I grooved at a club.
I was drunkenly belligerent to a deserving, rude waiter.
I went to church to repent.
Actually, I went to church because I wanted something to do on a Sunday morning at 8:30 and no one wanted to play Frisbee.
It was one of those short trips that feel like a week because they're so packed with activities. I really did feel like we were gone for a week, which is why I assumed that none of the dishes in my apartment's clean dishwasher were mine. As it turns out, it was more likely that they all were mine, including the cheese grater, which I've recently broken. Sadly, the former fact was not realized until after a roommate of mine unloaded the dishwasher, which he has had to do an inordinate number of times.
I have a hard time treating my apartment like a home, since it's really only a place I go to sleep, eat burritos, and possibly catch Jeopardy. I think that this is because when I first moved to town, I was having a rough time and simply stayed home as much as possible, which infused the walls of the place with an air of ominous despair. This is too bad, because I think the walls are actually pretty fly. If it were only a lack of attendance that resulted from my irrational associations, that would be all right, but there has also been the consequence of poor room-mate-ship. Here is a list of things that (I think) good roommates do:
Unload the dishwasher.
Clean the bathroom.
Sweep the floor.
Take out the trash.
Take care to completely push in the headphone jack while watching loud porn
Sadly these are things about which I've been remiss, and I feel I've caused some suffering. I will probably wait till both of my room mates are in good moods to apologize and promise better behavior, but I feel like my lack of roommate performance is a sign of a welcome, personal revelation that has been coming to me slowly, which is this: I am not shrewd, and that's OK.
For instance, I have a difficult time discerning the motives of cartoon characters, let alone the plot lines of movies a la "Mission Impossible", whose title also describes my ability to comprehend the significance of a single scene. I feel as though I'm sensitive, but only to select emotions and motivations. This makes it difficult for me to act in situations where it's inferred that my knowledge of social norms, infused in me by 23 years of experience, will guide me to act in a culturally appropriate manner. To elaborate using the roommate example, I would be totally fine living in a house where the following things happen:
The dishwasher was a "pre-clean" cupboard.
A foggy mirror was a blessing as an acne hider.
Dust bunnies were afforded animal rights.
Garbage was combined with mud to make political commentary sculpture.
Porn was played loudly and without shame.
This was basically how things worked when I was in college, and I think it was because we all shared those beliefs. But now I have the extra task of figuring out how "everyone else" would act, and change my behavior accordingly. This is something I would have been wise to consider beforehand, since it now puts everyone involved in an awkward situation.
Some of the readers will probably see this explanation as a weak cop-out to my simply being irresponsible. You’re right, but I’m having a hard time feeling badly about it because I think it’s ultimately a consequence of my personality, which I like. Anyway, now I’m just rambling. Good night sweet prince.



Me grooving: On my Facebook profile, photograph by Kurinji Pandiyan
Violence and neglect victim: www.colinsteadman.com/
How I would roll: http://www.nervousnellies.com/
Sweet Prince: http://homepages.wmich.edu/~r4strehl/