i can't get no satisfaction

my roommate must be off his meds or something. he's fine for months, then suddenly he becomes the bitch queen of the universe, pointing out every imagined offense i have done.

most aggravating to me is that these offenses are 99% of the sort i encountered this morning. i bused my mugs from last evening into the kitchen, but because he's sleeping & not creeping around like a mouse will awaken him in a nasty, nasty mood, i wait to wash them.

he gets up. i take the dog out, come back in, completely empty the strainer of the three thousand dishes in it, make coffee, wipe up after myself, sweep the kitchen floor, return to my room.

stomp stomp he comes out of his room. i hear him curse and the sound of dishes dropped into the sink. returning to the kitchen, he turns and lectures me in a very nasty tone about how i never wash my dishes. i leave them in the sink. he washes them all night and morning.

he dismisses my comments that i didn't wash the three mugs this morning because it would disturb him and he would yell at me. he denies yelling at me. which is patently ridiculous, given that he's bludgeoning me with ill-will and nasty comments in a loud, angry voice. he slams, stomps, crashes, glowers. when awakened because i slid the kitchen door open and shut a few times one night, he barrelled out of his room and smashed the door in and out of the wall like it was my head.

he's never threatened to hurt me or raised a hand or anything of the sort. but when he's in one of these moods, which have to be tied to his medication for obsessive-compulsive, he's unreasonable and unreachable. he's pissed off and will put me in my place.

i fucking hate that. for christ's sake, he spent twelve hours washing every surface of the house. i wash my dishes every day all day. he claims he washes my dishes every damn day. i tell him i never once asked you wash my dishes. don't wash them.

response: he claims he did that last week and they sat for two days.

i remember those dishes. they weren't mine so i didn't wash them. but there is no reasoning. he's got it up his ass that i've done Wrong, i've Offended Sensibility.

fuck, man. it's three fucking mugs from last night and you woke up ten minutes ago. i got up about ten minutes before that.

i want to tell him i would have washed them when i finished breakfast, but he'd just dismiss it, so i do what i usually do. i listen and he stomps out the door.

damnit, this house is farking spotless, what the fuck else does he want? i pick up my dishes. i can't wash them when he's asleep and when he wakes up he freaks out that i haven't washed them - even though i didn't use them until after he was asleep.

it's the lack of drugs, man. take some chill pills, it's not like i'm leaving anything in the living room or disturbing whatever perfect arrangement balance he's made for the furniture. my shoes are in my room. nothing that does not belong in his carefully-arranged living room is there. only three mugs awaiting washing - mugs used right before i went to bed and moved to kitchen for washing with my breakfast dishes (most of which i had already washed and are in the strainer, by the way).

damnit. i hate when he gets like this, and it's always out of the blue and angry at everything and unreasonable.