Sorry folks, but it’s time for some darkness, though hopefully with a light at the end of the tunnel. It does seem like something always has to be wrong in my life, and while my job is going great (for now!), my home life has just taken a turn for the worse, with no real prospect of it improving until the culprit does the decent thing and moves out.
Yes, it’s my former-drummer housemate again, the guy we pay all our bills to, and the guy who was a jerk to me just before Christmas 2013 (as you may remember), by coincidence around the time of another major storm here in England. Our latest run-in happened in the kitchen as well, but he’d already been a douche to me this year, simply because I was trying to go into the bathroom when he was coming out (y’know, because I wanted to take a shower), and muttering something I didn’t quite catch when he finally let me in. Like I said three years ago, I’m not obliged to “join in” with pranks like that: if he saw I was upset and carried on anyway, he’s practically a bully, and if he was genuinely trying to upset me rather than just have a (bad) joke, he’s definitely a bully!
And so to today, when I came home from a tough evening being tortured by my personal trainer, but couldn’t sit down and rest my legs on the Northern Line because it was crowded due to storm disruption (but don’t pity me, the lady next to me fainted and had to be taken off!). Needing protein, I settled for oven burgers because my local Tesco had mysteriously emptied out the entire section where they stock the veggie burgers intended for a frying pan; as I came home, I began thinking back on how many times I came home to find the guy who used to live in the room beneath mine (where “best mate” lives now) making a huge meal for several of his college friends, when I was hoping to cook my own dinner, and how much it frustrated me when I couldn’t use the oven or hobs…
Which is where it all went wrong: someone had a pie in the oven, and I moved it down so I could fit my burgers in. I knew deep down it would be him, and that there was no point asking him how long his food would take so I could wait for him to be finished, because he always behaves like a total see-you-next-Tuesday when I ask him a perfectly reasonable question (one time he just took his food out of the oven and flounced off, even though I was happy to wait on that occasion, as I was going to use the grill!).
When he finally came downstairs to check on his food, he told me off for making it take longer for him by putting it low down, and then took my burgers out of the oven to put his pie at the top; he then stood in front of the oven and wouldn’t let me put my food back in, even though I said I would put them on the lower shelf, until he’d had his fun and finally relented. And just to make matters worse, he said he’d wait 20 minutes for his pie to be done, and tried to get me to leave the kitchen, even though my burgers were a few minutes from being ready — and so he just stood there like a weirdo, trying to psyche me out…
I’m so glad “best mate” was home early (from yet another construction job in Scotland), as he distracted the guy with conversation while I finished up and got the hell out of there. He never sees the way the guy treats me, and while it’s not his place to play psychologist or mediator, it still sucks that he likes the guy and gets on with him… and while it could be argued that I should have moved the pie up instead of down (to be fair, it was in the middle to start with), why not be sensible about it? Why behave like he was getting karmic revenge for some kind of deliberate slight?
This former-drummer housemate is the only person who was here in this house when I first moved in, five years ago; fortunately, now that he’s left music behind and will be working as a trucker, he’s planning to move into his own flat — and this is what keeps me going: the thought that he won’t always be here, and that once he gets a job, he’ll be gone. I’m quite clear that I never want to see him again, because even when he’s being seemingly amiable towards me, it feels like he’s laughing behind a mask, and truly has no respect for me at all — that’s why perhaps I didn’t handle my side of this evening’s dispute as diplomatically as I could have, because it felt like he was just sneering rather than having a valid complaint.
So, no love lost between us — but I hope to be the better man, by simply ignoring him, and avoiding all contact (except where unavoidable, such as paying bills) until he moves out. I’m sure that’ll be a sweet day: I still remember the final departure of “bad housemate” at Caledonian Road, and how it felt like a physical separation of life paths, and how little I think of that guy any more (or, for that matter, the annoying woman at Camden, someone incredibly oblivious to how vexing she was). I don’t want him to get run over or arrested, I just want him out of my life completely.
However, paranoid though I am, it feels like he’ll try to get “revenge” on me in the meantime (you know, for fun), maybe by taking my food out of the oven when I’m cooking (hey, maybe he’ll spit on it too?) — or even by tricking me into eating meat (since he once said he’d “cure” me of my vegetarianism), though admittedly that’s something I’ve been worried about him doing for years. He already rattles the toilet door handle any time I happen to be in there when he wants to go in, as though I’ve personally annoyed him and deliberately chose to get in his way.
I’ll try to keep calm, but I can’t shake the feeling this is going to get worse before it gets better… maybe I’m not paranoid enough?