Apartment #3: There Are Hardly Ever Cockroaches

That's what the landlord said to me as I stood in the tiny kitchen, looking at the smaller-than-average oven, the shallow sink, the rotting cabinets. I peaked into the bathroom, and my first thought upon seeing the dark shower stall was, "This is a perfect place to commit suicide." I could almost see the dead body hanging there.

I look at jobs every day. Most days, twice a day. I have approximately four months of unemployment checks left. Then I will officially have run out of incoming money. When I go to sleep at night, I think of different things I can do to Wooffers. A Facebook friend emailed me to say she lived with a similar roommate, and when she was moving out she may have "accidentally" thrown out some of the roommate's things. That crosses a line for me, but it got the mental ball rolling. Even though I'm sure some would say dreaming of revenge is not healthy, I must wonder if those people ever got screwed. Living well may be the best revenge, but when I was at my highest point, even then nobody ever would have said I was living well. I was just living the best I ever had.

I've never had cockroaches. Once, when I lived in Florida, I found a huge bug crawling across the living room. I screamed and rushed to vacuum it up (because that seemed like the logical thing to do after bashing it with a shoe). After that buggy day, I kept any open food in the refrigerator. Box of crackers? Fridge! Bag of pretzels? Fridge!

I do not want to live among cockroaches. I am trying to be more open to compromise, but I think cockroaches may be a line I am unable to cross.