A desperate plea for pity

Seems to me that very few people are actually from the DC area. It's a transient place where people flit in, put in a tortuous two or three years with the politician/government agency/news medium of their choice and then flit out again.

This being the case, it's been practically a ghost town here this Thanksgiving weekend. I had a few buddies with whom to spend the actual holiday, saving me from having a complete emotional breakdown, but otherwise it's been just me and The Flatulent One.

And boy, is he creeping me out. I exited my room on Thursday to find he had cleaned the entire apartment. He even laundered the dining room table cloth and our bathmats. This from the the guy who can't be bothered to wipe the sink of his excess shaving cream and stubble. Then this morning I went in the kitchen to find a plate heaping with brownies. This from the guy who has never so much as boiled water for a meal (he tends to favor take out pizza and Wendy's). Maybe the Good Roommate did poison him.

Because I could only stay cooped up in my room for so many hours reading another book about Tudor England-- the TV and thus our entire shared living space had been claimed by Sir Flatulence for hours-- I met up with my sole friend who is actually from DC for dinner. We went to the neighborhood to the west of mine, and on the moderately long walk home I couldn't stop myself from staring in to restaurant windows on families enjoying a lovely meal together.

I felt like the curmudgeonly father in those Christmas movies who leaves his home and children in a huff, cursing the bad luck the fates had bestowed upon him, until he happens upon a scene of familial tranquility. He pauses outside the window rimmed with frost and looks adoringly at the family inside. Feeling his stare upon them, they nudge each other and point to the window. Alarmed at the feeling of his heart slowly shedding its encasement of ice, he hurries home, finally aware of the true meaning of Christmas.

I was that man, dear readers. Except I had no family to hurry to. Only the roommate.

And now, as he takes one of his 40-minute showers in complete darkness, I cannot help but feel that darkness seep into my very soul.