Once upon a time there was a household that had a roll of toilet paper. Everyday, there were three bums, one old bum and one almost middle age bum and one pre-teen bum. Each one in turn would sit on that cold porcelain throne and take a few pieces of the precious non-renewable source known to the common folk of the area as toilet paper. Because of this, each day the precious roll would get smaller and smaller until that fateful moment when the roll could give no more and would need to replaced with a new one. By morning the latest roll had unrolled its last square and a new one was needed. Those precious equilateral squares had been used by none other than the old person in the group. Upon realizing they’d used up the last square the old bum went and got a new roll but after using it had then secreted it back away in their secret area of things not allowed to be known to the almost middle age bum or the pre-teen bum, all those who were not the old bum will now be expected to fend for themselves. The old bum had previously loudly and proudly decreed that everyone should change out the toilet paper roll when it runs out only to later refuse to do so themselves because “I’m the one who pays for everything.” This was actually due to a sudden change in royal policy in regard to the old bum not feeling like they should have to be the one to replace the cardboard center of the roll of paper with a new and full roll of paper, that and they were a narcissist and a narcissist should never be expected to do anything they don’t feel like. One could use the quote “They’re here to change the world, not the toilet paper” So as of this morning there sits a sad looking remains of the used up cardboard roll with a plastic holder still through it on the counter in the bathroom awaiting its replacement because the narcissist, the old bum, can’t be bothered to stoop to the level of the more baseborn common folk and actually replace the used up roll of paper.
True story folks, this actually happened one morning. There are three of us who had to use the same restroom and the general rule was originally that if you use the last of the toilet paper you are supposed to replace the used toilet paper roll. That makes sense to me, perfectly good logic. My now former roommate, the old bum, refuses to change out the roll and is often known to leave the last two squares on the roll and go get her own roll from her room so that she can say that she didn’t use last of the roll and therefore doesn’t have to change the paper out. She’s very dramatic and of course she can never be wrong, that’s my job to be wrong and have to apologize. She also loves to play the “I’m the one paying the rent and changing the paper is the least you can do” card. While I can understand that she was the one paying the rent and all that jazz I also understand one simple little concept that I feel makes a big difference. If you notice the toilet paper is low or out then switch it out. Goodness, whomever pays or doesn’t pay the rent shouldn’t be the deciding factor is whomever gets the happy job of replacing the paper that sits beside that cold white throne we all must sit every once in a while. If it’s low or out then switch it out. I don’t know, maybe I’m just a little bit to simple to understand her grownup self or at least all the amazingly intricate rules in regard to renters rights vs. toilet paper privileges of the long-time resident’.
Life around this particular roommate was always a boiling over the lip tall glass of drama and a heaping helping of absolute crap. I have since then moved and now live in another state so as to avoid the mental and emotional damage caused by the mind crushing drama. I had to move three times in five months because of them. I have also gone no-contact and allowed the fact that most of my possessions got lost in the mail so as to avoid having to deal with her attempt at guilting me into feeling bad about things I have no business feeling bad about, such as her attitude toward anyone or anything that isn’t her or fit exactly into her idea of how things should be. There are still people who know where I’m at and will probably tell her where I am. One of the people who is likely to tell her has what I recognize as early stages of both hypothyroidism and dementia, they’ve already told me how they had been regaling her with stories of how well I’m doing and the art projects she’s seen me put on my facebook page and then apologies because she remembers that I don’t want my former roommate to know what I’m doing or where I’m at. I’ll put more about that in another post.
sillysadness 