I'm not happy about this realization about myself, but a few weeks ago, resentment was building in me about my roommate. He had the GALL to use one of my refrigerator shelves!! And he doesn't ever put out the recyclables! And his love life was a mess! And he left his ID badge in the common area! Omg!
I was stewing about this and other minuscule things when I thought about what it might be like to live with my stepbrother. I love that guy so dearly. But he sure as hell would not be careful about where he put his damned leftovers. If there was an empty shelf (I hadn't been using it), he'd slide that to-go container right up there in my domain. And I would be only affectionately annoyed. "Oh bro," I'd snicker. "So clueless!" Then I'd move his shit to the lower shelf and move on with my life.
This wasn't a nice revelation. You mean it wasn't the THING itself but it was me being OCD?
Not to justify this, but it had felt like there was an intruder in the house. I at least tried hard to be respectful and not say anything that would make him not feel at home but inside I bristled. Kudos to me that he couldn't tell I was struggling but something's shifted. We've started to become friends. Hang out. Listen to music and watch House (fucking awesome show!). He bought a TV, which my ass did not own previously, and dammit if it didn't make the house warmer, somehow. Amenable. Sociable. Fun.
The negatives aren't that bad. No roommate I have ever lived with (and there have been many) ever put out the recyclables. And not winning the love life lottery isn't a requisite on the lease. He's aight, you know. And now it's starting to feel like home with him here.
(Sent from my phone)