Monday, July 28, 2003


I have always been lucky when it comes to shared living. At Stanford, I lived in quads for my first two years and in a double in junior year. The worst thing my frosh roommates (Sachin and Jason) had ever dished out was a garbage can of cold water when I was taking a shower. And it was all fun and games since I did get them back. During Sophomore year, James and Pat ambushed me with a supersoaker after I had pestered them earlier with water guns. They even took a picture of me opening the door just before getting soaked. I never really minded BK's whining in junior year because he put up with all my hijinks.

And yet now I find myself wishing I were living alone. Now, I have been getting along pretty well with my roommate. We are by no means at each other's throat and we generally try to stay out of each other's way. But he has done some things that are really bewildering and even infuriating to me. A while ago, I would go to the bathroom and find the toilet lid down. When I opened it up, there would be a pool of Gandhi-rade floating in the bowl, taunting me. After I talked to roommie about it, he has flushed more consistently, but I'm still nervous now whenever I see the toilet lid down because I really don't like these surprise gifts from him.

Saturday, I came back from dinner to find an envelope addressed clearly to me and ONLY ME lying on the coffee table, ripped open already. It contained nothing confidential, unless one considers Bjork concert tickets integral to national security, so it wasn't that big of a deal. But I'm still pretty pissed off. I haven't asked him why he opened my letter yet because he didn't come back home until very late on Saturday and was out all day on Sunday. I really hope it was just a careless mistake on his part.