alexwearspants

Well, a new house has been acquired. This is, of course, alternately fantastic and terrifying, as all change tends to be.

It also raises certain moral and ethical issues. For starters, there is the question of the housemate. Whether she knows or not is irrelevant. The problem is that she has not been informed. It is, obviously, patently, my duty to do so. It would be the kind, correct, right thing to do to inform her at the earliest possible convenience, to give her time to find another housemate or make alternative arrangements, and to account for the fact that I will be taking most of the, er, necessary household items with me. (Interestingly the fact that I will be putting her in this awkward position fills me with a certain level of guilt, even though I quite ruthlessly made sure when we first came to this arrangement that I would be properly furnished when we eventually parted ways. Of all the things I have to feel guilty about, this is the least of them, yet it niggles the most. She is, mostly, a nice enough girl - surely she should not be so inconvenienced?)

The problem is I am a coward. I do not like conflict. Well, not when it is with a dominant and unreasonable personality, when all I have to deliver is bad news with no means at hand to placate. I also have a certain amount of reason to fear retaliation, and as I work shift there is a fair amount of opportunity for offensive action on her part. I fear not so much for myself as my property. I like things. For one thing I spend quite a lot of money on them.

There is also the slight matter of schadenfreude. I know she will roll from this easily, it will be not even a pebble in her path (and yet, I am so good at misinterpreting situations...) but part of me hopes that it will hurt. I never relate to the descriptions in a certain kind of novel that elaborate on the fierce battle between passionate, romantic longing for a person and the firm, cold knowledge that it must be squashed. At least, not until I remember my own secret pleasure in the downfall of others, and how I must, at times, actually pause mid-action to stop myself blindly following down the path of my wants and remember that I am trying to do what is best. It is always so easy to imagine that innate emotional desires are little things until one encounters the actual confusion and loss of direction that is engendered when one tries to prevent one from being fulfilled. Even a blindingly obvious choice can become fraught with uncertainty as one begins to doubt one's ability to honestly pick the morally correct path.

At least this situation is providing me food for thought.

Nonetheless. As much as I loathe the concept, I must tell her. The sooner the better. If only I could tell her when she is off-guard. I can only hope for some leverage to arrive, in some form or another. I would provoke an argument, merely so that the adrenalin rush will wash away the fear and make the telling easier.

Except that would be wrong. And, if I am to do myself justice even moreso than her, I must, must let her know why I am leaving. And that is not by yelling out all the little things she does that irritate me so. It is much more of informing her, whilst in control, of what my reason is, and then proceeding with the course of action I have outlined.

I merely hope that she does not try to hide or lay claim to my precious belongings. Of all the things to suffer in this argument, material wealth should not number among the victims.


Regina Spektor is lovely. So is The Call.