Not again!

I can feel the mounting tension between my roommate and I and from an observer’s perspective I want to throw my arms up and run out of the room because (I’m distracted by someone bowing to Allah at the BART) I’ve had three dozen roommates steeped in estrogen over the past decade and it’s like manipulating a remote control to turn on and off the smiles, acceptance, anxiety, excitement, and cordiality. It’s mostly deciding how much energy to exert in pressing the ego button of “your special” and “I’m lucky to be here”. Meh. I just wanted cheap shelter moderately cool, clean and drama free. Why do I have to massage sore spots for this? My own hormonal biology cries “what about me?” and again I throw up my arms because life is just one big snake biting my ass…


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