My roommate

I’ve had some questions of late as to the potential crazies of the girl I now live with.  Ok, I’ve lived with her almost a month now, and I’m still not quite sure.  There’s the lonely factor.  I’m absolutely certain that the fact that she can’t stop talking to me has something to do with her having basically lived on her own for the past year.  But she also has two cats, and is on her way to three.  Not that I mind cats – still the attention she pays to them in place of actual people could be indicative of a slightly imbalanced state of mind.  However, she’s a perfectly sweet and nice girl.  As a roommate, her expectations are low.  And she certainly doesn’t expect to be a part of my life, though she occasinally talks my ear off.

So are the potential crazies really a bad thing?  True, she’s possibly a little awkward to have around if you’re welcoming a new acquaintance into your home.  But she’s not the type to become physically dangerous.  And even if she does, she’s about half my size, wispy, and not nearly as mean as me on a joyous and stress-free day. What could she possibly do?  Even if she were to attempt to talk me to death, there’s always the possibility of fleeing in outright rudeness to get away.

On the other hand, she might be catching.  Let’s face it, I’m not the most socially balanced person all on my own.  Sure I can laugh at myself and often do, but I also tend to act even more ridiculous when I’m nervous.  So am I simply more worried of myself sinking into catladydom?  Or is there some deeper, less ridiculous fear there?  Or does it not have anything to do with my own fear for myself at all?  Is it more about this girl, who I don’t know or have any intention of knowing outside of living in the same apartment as her for a year, who I’ve already comforted on one of her bad days because there doesn’t seem to be anyone else?  What does it say that my roommate came home from her job crying and i was almost afraid to hug her?  What kind of world is that?

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Things that parents fear

I just recently am back at work today after spending the long weekend and Tuesday with my parents.  I had a really great time with them, even though we didn’t do very much.  Sure, we went to one museum and lots of restaurants, and played some card and board games.  I love my family.  But what I enjoyed most was just getting to sit and talk to them.

One of the things that came up – that always comes up –  is the significant other discussion.  This can be long and varied depending on who I’m dating.  During this particular visit, discussion revolved around my boyfriend’s family: where did they come from, what was their history, where had they lived, what was the general outline of their lives.  It makes sense at some level – it gives a better sense of Mike and who he is, and perhaps why he is who he is.  Still, it was rather disconcerting at times.

My dad describes the measuring and analysis and questioning in two ways.  First, no one will ever be good enough for his daughter.  Second, there always looms the possibility of a horrible, painful, devastating breakup.  And the second possibility only looms worse the the better they feel about the first.  Why is this worry so much bleaker than many of the others parents have for their children?  Sure there are little worries all parents have – about their children’s general health and well-being, about their ability to provide for themselves, about their happiness.

This blog quips that difficult breakups are a White Man’s Burden (and joy).   And there is a grain of truth in a bad breakup being something many of us love to hate, whether or not this love is a white man’s prerogative.  I guess I have a larger question in where it all started.  Is it just the melancholy of the Gothic novel?  Is it the unrequited love of the middle ages or before?  Does the whole thing have its roots in Greek tragedy? Did Marco Polo introduce the idea from his Asian experience with Indian serpent love-myths or the mournful courtesan poetry of China? Or is it something more than historical?  Is it something we need, or long to gripe and worry about, despite ourselves?