(Well, there certainly aren’t just three things on my mind, but my newspaper readings haven’t been giving me much to bite on, lately. And I just feel like rambling, even if I have nothing to say.)
Some days, I am really glad that I can be assertive.
A future roommate of mine, H., has a major problem with confrontation. She’s also having major roommate problems. She came into my room this afternoon, frustrated and crying about her roommate’s latest transgression; Kitty Cat, Bridget, and I all attempted to help. It was interesting: I could predict everyone’s suggestions based on their personalities. Bridget wanted H. to start hiding the things her roommate was using without permission, and to make vague not-suggestions and not-hints that she didn’t want something to happen, etc., etc. Cat wanted H. to take a roll of duct tape and draw a line in the middle of the room, to keep all things separate. I suggested she grab someone with big enough balls to handle her roommate to mediate a discussion of all the issues, because there’s no way this is all one-sided, even if all we hear is H.’s problems.
Guess who mediated a discussion between two upset roommates this afternoon?
First, I had to get the boyfriend out, ‘cuz he couldn’t do anything but hurt the situation. Then I had to get over the roommate’s defensiveness (this woman is a lioness, and if she didn’t have that Minnesotan accent and wasn’t so back-stabbing/snipey, I’d probably like her). These are the times I’m grateful for the body language books I read a few years ago. Makes this type of thing easier all around.
It should be noted that we had to pull H. down the hall, crying and upset. This does not bode well for communications next year. Nor do the suggestions from Bridget and Cat on how to solve roommate problems. I’m becoming increasingly worried.
The other thing on my mind is my newly-made promise to avoid, at all costs, sleeping around people I’m uncomfortable with.
Friday, I went to the nearby guys’ residence hall to read while Nikolai did homework. I got tired, and took a quick nap. When I woke up, Nikolai chuckled and said, “Did you have a nice dream?”
Sometimes I really hate the fact that I talk in my sleep.
I don’t remember having a dream, although I rarely do remember. The whole situation is just creepy. There’s something very singular about the question “Did you have a nice dream?” that suggests a particular dream, rather than the more general “Did you have pleasant dreams?” And he laughed. Always a bad sign. I just thanked him for letting me snore on the couch and high-tailed it out of there.
This does not bode well for the overnight stay on the joint trip I’m planning for the end of the year. (I’m warming my parents up to the idea of Nikolai and me following each other back to Charlotte, where I’ll get off and he’ll continue to Alabama. There would be a requisite overnight stay in a hotel room, because I don’t think I can drive ten or eleven hours straight, even with frequent short breaks.)
I’ve also become increasingly frustrated with my music selection. Last night, I wanted to hear smash-your-head-into-a-wall-repeatedly rock music (a rare thing for me). My options? Rammstein, Slipknot, and System of a Down. No, no, no. I gave up after a couple rounds of “Kuss Mich” and loaded some Maxwell. Ah, Maxwell. I abhor bump-and-grind music, but I love me some Maxwell.