“It’s nice to be back here, even if only for a week.”
I got up around 3am this morning. I didn’t have anything to do, or anywhere to go; I love waking up early. As per my usual, I got up, took a shower, shaved, got dressed, made my bed and headed to the store by 3:45am. At the store, I grabbed three Monster Ultra and a pack of Backwoods cigars. From the store, I headed to my favorite morning hangout spot in the woods to sit and wait for the sunrise. Basically, I picked up right where I left off before I left to Montana in May. And, that brings me up to the point of this article— compulsive habit!
For whatever reason, while I was waiting for the sunrise, I recalled a conversation I had with work colleagues about roommates. I pretty much told them I am not roommate material and anyone who tries to become my roommate would be disappointed, annoyed, and aggravated.
“Yeah no, not happening,” I said.
“It can’t be that bad being your roommate. You’re very quiet,” said K—.
“Yeah, and I also have extremely high standards and expectations,” I replied.
“C’mon, seriously? Like what?” A— asked.
“Bottom line, anyone who comes live in ‘MY’ house, has to abide my rules. And for about ninety-five percent of the people I know, those rules are too extreme,” I replied.
“Yeah, right!” commented A—.
I continued, “No shoes in the house. No friends visiting. No dirty dishes (use a dish, wash a dish). No clothes laying around. No clutter. Nothing on the counters. No loud music. Absolutely no pets.”
“That’s not bad,” said A—.
“Okay but I’m not done. No messy rooms. Your bed must be made and room clean. The chrome spigots on faucets must be wiped down after use. I can’t stand the sight of water spots. No sitting on the couch with dark denim that bleeds,” I replied.
“Whoa! That’s a bit much,” K— said.
“Yeah well, remember it’s my house, so my rules. You don’t leave laundry in either the washer or dryer. No plastic bags in the refrigerator. If you buy vegetables take them out of the bag and put in the crisper. No restaurant leftover food containers in the refrigerator,” I continued.
“Dude, what the hell? That’s way too much. You’re acting like we’re kids.” K— said.
“Yeah, well, I said I’m not a good roommate; my expectations are high,” I replied.
“Okay! We get it,” said A—
“Yeah, but I’m not done. When I go to a hotel, I treat it the same way I do my house. I make my bed, wipe down the chrome, clean the counters, no clothes on the floor, no trash in the room, etc. Also, in my house, no trashcans in the restrooms. I don’t like seeing trash in there. No personal items on bathroom counters. No hairs in showers, no shaving remnants in sink, etc. Basically, you treat my house like it’s a hotel room ready to be turned over to a new guest at all times… NO EXCEPTIONS!” I replied.
“Man you’re extra, Dude,” said K—.
I laughed and said, “Yeah I know. I’m OCD about that stuff.”
“Yeah you are. Now I understand your compulsion for your monsters and drinking them in a particular order. Dude, you’re never going to make anyone happy.” said K—.
I chuckled, “Yeah I am. I make myself happy.”
I’m not sure why I felt compelled to write this post, but it struck me this morning how important my routine is to me. Goes right up there with being neurotic about being an hour early to work. Yeah that’s me too.
