Why I can't do a roommate and other apartment queries.

Lupo asked me why I don't think I'm capable of having a roommate.

I'm the boy who had 14 roommates in college, all of which ended due to reason or circumstance. On paper, I'm all charming, but, in life and in my apartment, I'm a freaking mess. My car indicates this. My apartment indicates this.

Knowing that about myself makes it either self-fulfilling prophecy or clever reasoning, I'm not sure which. I've not done a roommate situation in five years, for I know that I'm a bad roommate and that I can cause all sorts of un-fun tension with the wrong person.

I am venting.

My landlord called me and told me that the hot water is fixed - but I don't know if he means "You should never have this problem again" fixed or "We put a Band-Aid on the burst aorta again, which should help things for, like, a day ..." fixed. That, more than anything, is what has been driving me up the wall about this situation, the fact that it keeps happening over and over again.

If I have another good day at my apartment, though, that means there's another moment that I would have to mooch off Larry and David, about which I feel guilty (though apparently not so guilty that I stop intruding upon them).

I question my commitment to the fabled move to Atlanta, as well, though I have, to my credit, saved some money. I just keep talking and talking about it, not doing a damn thing. I feel like such a yutz.

If this water situation helps motivate me out of that damn apartment, then I'll ultimately be happy that this whole nightmare happened. Isn't that funny?

It's not what happens to you. It's how you use it.