Exercises In Cohabitation

[masterofmidgets]

HEY GUYS I HAS A ROOMMATE.

Well, I mean, I have a roommate now - in fact she's sleeping four feet away, which is why I am typing in the dark - but now I have a roommate for next year.

I missed my in-house draw last year because I stop checking my email when I'm stressed and thus didn't know when it was until two hours after it was over, so I wasn't really sure what to expect with this one. And since I draw by myself, I didn't have a roommate already lined up, and was just banking on meeting someone at the draw I didn't hate on sight.

Basically, I figured it would be an exercise in Watch masterofmidgets  Be Socially Awkward - I mean, when we do group projects in class, I'm always the one who the teacher has to pair off at the end because god forbid I actually talk to another person without making an idiot out of myself or having a panic attack. But it went well! The person standing right next to me when we started was also lacking a roommate, and we hit it off pretty quick. More or less compatible sleep schedules, which is a big deal in a one-room double, and she seems quite nice and funny. And she's an Obama campaigning IR major, which is a big plus. I really hope this works out well. *fingers crossed*

Got a decent room, too, despite my draw number being on the low side of God Awful. I mean, the doubles in Cardenal are all pretty uniformly Tiny and Square, but we got one that is close to the laundry room and the showers, and it's on the first floor, THANK GOD. So you know, I'm decently happy about that.

IN UNRELATED NEWS: I really hate that the only time I am motivated to write is when I have a fuckton of work to do, but things are what they are, and there doesn't seem to be much I can do about it. So here, have a ficlet.

 

There are the kind of guys you can fall in love with, and the kind of guys you can’t, and there was just no doubt that Louis was one of the latter. There were never going to be odes composed about his paunch and his greying hair and his clothes that looked like he ran into a thrift shop in the middle of a high speed chase and grabbed the first things that came to hand. No one was going to wax poetic about the way he puffed when he ran, the way he grunted when he ate, the way all his stupid jokes fell flat because he told them at the worst possible times.

Louie and romance just didn’t fit into the same thought; even his ex-wife had probably  just put up with him until she couldn’t anymore and took off with the first sweet-smile sweet-eyes sweet-words guy she saw. That was what you did with Louie, you put up with him, you tolerated him, you let him hang around while you ignored the smell and the jokes and the coffee stains on everything he touched and hoped he didn’t know you were waiting for him to leave. 

You didn’t look forward to seeing him every day. You didn’t invite him over for hockey and beer just so you could spend a few more hours in his company. And you damn sure didn’t fall in love with him, because he just wasn’t the kind of guy anyone would fall in love with.

That’s what Jack Huey keeps telling himself, anyway.