A Letter to my Roommate

Dear roommate,

I know it's been a while since we've really comminicated face to face, but I feel like after tonight's...misunderstanding...that some explanation is in order. I hope you accept this letter with an open mind and can see things from my point of view- just as I have tried to imagine myself in your position.

Really though, where did it all go wrong? As I sat frustrated, recovering this evening after our...dance...I rewound the clock in review of our relationship to try and discover the virulent moment our friendship turned sour. I remembered fondly the first fork our friendship came to. Can you think back to it? That night you woke me up with the gentlest nibble on my hip? I thought surely this was a violent act of low-handed, night-time terrorism. But after I called the Peace Corps Medical Officer and later verified neither you or I had Rabies, I realized it was a subtle introduction and sincere extension of friendship to me. After that, I tried my hardest to be the best possible cohabitator I could. I realized my american scents and foods were strange, so I tried to keep them cleanly stowed. I can only blame myself for upsetting you so much that you were driven to tear the plastic bags containing my foodstuffs to shreds. Even the local trash that I accumulated I realize would have been a bother in the small environment we share. I'll admit my inconsiderate behavior completely justified you spreading funfetti-size fragments of it around our room- no matter how well I thougt I had packaged it up and out of your way.

But in explanation of my obvious frustration tonight, there have been several things you've done that I think most would interpret as critical transgressions against myself. Mostly it's the summation of minor events that has set me so on edge, things like- waking me up at all hours of the night, not ever fetching water, eating my food and not replacing it, leaving peanut shells on top of my mosquito net at night, doing that thing where you tug at my hair while I sleep even though I've told you stop at least three times, and generally creeping the bajeezies out of me when I wake up and you're sitting on the floor staring at me. And I'm still struggling through the process of cultural adaptation, but I'm positive not everyone in Sierra Leone poops on someone's bed when they're out during the day and then doesn't clean it up.

Really- I'm not saying it's your fault you were born a mouse, and it's something I'd never wish to change. But, I do think there are a couple of things we could stand to modify in our relationship. I'm sure you found it as unpleasant as I did to find yourself being chased by me, naked, around our room tonight. To avoid more flying shoes, american explatives, blockades constructed out of cardboard, and general rodent descrimination, I suggest we find an equilibrium as to what is acceptable behavior in our shared habitat. You really must believe me when I say I wasn't going to actually do anything with that kitchen knife I was waving around when you were corralled in that corner tonight.

Please feel free to come to me anytime to talk about this. I know you've never even let things like me eating or sleeping keep you from gaining my audience, so I'm sure we'll have all this sorted out soon.

Sincerity abounding,
Jared Hooley