Little Bill

Lately I’ve been occupied with the idea that your environment affects your mood. This, up until last week, manifested itself in the form of P, my 23 year old roommate. P is a British kid living in the states for school. Over the last five months it’s become my opinion that this is the first time in his life that he has lived without his mother or his aunt taking care of him. The evidence of this being his inability to do his dishes or take out the trash; both of which got to be so bad — I wasn’t about to do the work for him — that living creatures would appear in his wake. Gross insect creatures.

Any of my online friends who instant message me with any frequency will testify to the fact that my co-habitation with P has taken a big toll on my emotional well-being. When I’d come home I wouldn’t leave my room, I would speak to him only when it was absolutely necessary and it took every ounce of my being to not become passive-aggressively resort to Post-Its as a means of communication.

That’s finally changed. I have moved out and found my own apartment. I can’t begin to explain how much happier I am already. Even sleep seems deeper, more restful, and just… better!

Also, I’m no longer embarrassed to bring someone home in the fear that my living room will be littered with greasy McDonald’s bags, Chinese-food menus and empty Snapple bottles.

What’s interesting is how many of my own bad habits were taken care of by living with him. I couldn’t be messy without risking hypocrisy. If I wanted a clean environment, I had to set an example. These good habits are already showing themselves in my own home, where I’d have no one else to blame but myself. Let’s hope I can keep it that way.

Even my cats seem happier.

I think I’m gonna like it here!