No, no — not like that. I’m talking about the literal French translation: household of three.
Some of you know that Todd and I are roommates. Some of you also know we’ve lived together for three years (four if you count the same dorm first year of college). Most of you probably do not know we have a third living companion, referred to once or twice on these pages as OtherRoommate. I don’t write about her that much because we never see each other, let alone hang out. Most of our communication is electronic: via e-mail or inter-office messaging. (We work at the same place, but don’t interact much in person there either.)
In the year or so after college that I lived in Podunk before returning to civilization last fall, I would visit OtherRoommate most weekends and we’d go out and get shitty. Sometimes LawSchoolFriend and Todd would come, but LSF doesn’t party as hard (I guess “school” is “important” to her) and Todd went away a lot of weekends to visit a certain individual of whom we no longer speak except to say, “Oh yeah — I totally forgot he ever was a part of your life,” followed by periods of uncontrollable laughter. (OK, so that’s usually me doing the saying/laughing while Todd scowls.) OtherRoommate and I were partners in crime.
Some time over the past several months of living together, the dynamic shifted. OtherRoommate, like me, has a habit of closing herself off from others to brood, recharge, whatever. I try not to do that with those close to me (i.e. roommates), but sometimes it’s necessary (Todd, JerseyFriend and LawSchoolFriend can attest to this pattern of behavior from college).
I used to reach out when she withdrew, tried to cheer her out of melancholy or force her to participate in life more — the lives Todd and I and the rest of our friends increasingly were living without her. These are things I know I’m powerless to achieve, things that someone shouldn’t be “forced” into doing if they’re not psychologically or emotionally able. At some point, I realized I couldn’t continue to shoulder her burdens, to feel responsible — at least partially — for her happiness. That sounds very presumptuous, but I just mean I used to feel guilty living a relatively carefree life — writing in my little blog and going out and making new memories with new people and leaving behind someone who used to be a major part of my life.
Eventually, though, the guilt subsided. I stopped wondering whether she’d be coming home or staying at her parents’ house, stopped knocking on her closed door to see if she wanted to talk, stopped including her in spur-of-the-moment plans (although we still make a point to invite her places when she’s actually present). It now has reached a point where we live almost entirely separate lives, save the idle (electronic) chatter to pass the time at work.
I have reached the conclusion that living together probably is not good for our friendship. Bad, even. Some friends just aren’t meant to live together. Todd and I have talked about moving when our lease ends. I vaguely kicked around the subject of moving (all three of us) with OtherRoommate several weeks ago, and she seemed reluctant to pack up and haul our shit somewhere else.
I know the adult thing to do is to share these thoughts with her, rather than with strangers on the Internets, but how does one broach the subject? (She doesn’t read my blog. Or maybe she does. I sent her the link once but she never mentions it. If she does read it, this task has become slightly easier in the most passive-aggressive way of all.) She has to know that this living arrangement is a bad idea. Right?
I don’t like conflict or awkwardness. Eee.