I can't wait to live alone. I can't wait to have a space that is solely mine, mess that is completely mine, a place that I can spread out and call all my own. Where I don't feel like others deserve that space more than me, where I can feel completely myself and be as weird as I want.
I've had some really shitty roommates, and I've been a shitty roommate. Like the girl who opened the box that I packed to make sure I didn't steal any of her movies (I did, and she found it--but that's beside the point, really). Or the one who cleaned up some cat vomit and then put the dirty towel on my bed. Or the one who threw a calculator at me. And don't even get me started on my first roommates--my mom and brother.
But my roommate right now, who I've lived with for the past three years and has easily been the best roommate I've ever had, makes me feel like I'm a stranger in my own house. Like I don't deserve to be here. I can recognize that part of that is my own discomfort, my own complexes about personal space. It's even fine that I don't feel like she values me as a person (forget feeling valued as a friend--that ship sailed a year ago, when she clearly decided that her boyfriend was more important than our friendship).
Today, though, felt like the final straw. I asked her to clean up her mess in the living room and on the coffee table. She (and her boyfriend, who moved in a month early without even asking me) exclusively use the living room. After I asked her to clean the table because my sister is coming into town, she looked at me with the bitchiest face and said "What do you mean?"
What the fuck do you think I mean?
I know this is small. I know I'm moving out in a week and I probably won't even remember this. I know that, in the long run, I'm going to be happier and more successful than her. I know that I'm a better person than she is, that I value the things in my life more than she does in hers. I know all of these things.
But it still fucking hurts.
