Mother's always kind of right

For example, mom was right when she said that it's good to allow space between your car and the one in front of you. Now, that doesn't mean I needed to hear it at the time, or that she was being constructive in saying it (in fact, she was just annoying me, which made me less receptive to her message, which was, content-wise, perfectly reasonable). One might argue (and perhaps I already have argued) that mom has exhausted her credibility, and hence her ability to convey a message constructively, by offering unsolicited advice at every turn. She could tell me to always wear my seatbelt, which I do anyway, and I'd just roll my eyes at her. But I digress.

Mom was also kind of right that my roommate is too friendly--not in the sketchy sense that she implied; just in the literal sense. I advertised for a roommate, not for a live-in friend. What is available for the price of rent is a room and the common spaces in the house. My conversation, which entails my time and energy, is not for rent.

Now, I'm more than happy to be friendly, show the guy where things are around town, etc., but when I'm catching up on my Daily Shows and New Yorkers, I would like to do so in peace (that goes for you, too, Gracie), and everything about my body language says as much. I let it go the first time it happened; rather, I figured he would gauge by my monotonous, non-committal responses to his questions that I was not interested in conversation.

Sunday night

RM: So, tell me about your trip to China.
A.: [Shrug]. It was... over a year ago.
RM: You were there with your parents. How was that?
A.: It was okay.

A.: I'm really fading. Goodnight.

It was a bit smoother than that, but not much.

Tonight

There is sound coming off of my computer. It's the last few minutes of the Colbert Report.

RM: So, how was your day? [I'd asked him when he walked in how his was]
A.: It was fine. Busy.
RM: What time did you leave in the morning?
A.: I don't know... around 6:30?
RM: Did you bike or drive? It was rainy.
A.: I took the metro.
RM: So you walked to the metro in the rain.
A.: Yes.
RM: How long did that take?
A.: Just under ten minutes.
RM: Then?
A.: Then it takes twenty minutes to get to Chinatown, than another five to get to walk to the office.
RM: Oh, you have to walk once you get there, too?
A.: Yes.
RM: Then what happens?
A.: Then I work.
RM: So, first you turn on your computer...

OMFG. Did you all read that link from yesterday about Bob Graham and his diaries? There's a reason my blog isn't like that: I neither thing anyone else is, or should be, interested in the minutiae of my day, nor am I interested in that stuff. It bores me, and it's my day. It annoys me when my mom interrogates me about details she couldn't possibly have any use for, and it annoyed me when he was interrogating me. But it annoyed me even more that he had no gauge of how uninterested I was in this conversation.

RM: It's that, people fascinate me. I find people really fascinating.

And we had a discussion earlier about how he was an extrovert, gets energy from people, and he was really proud of himself for figuring out that I'm an introvert. So why can't he figure out that this conversation is less than enjoyable for me? Isn't part of being an extrovert having social skills?

RM: So, what's your routine once you've turned on your computer.
A.: I don't really have a routine. It depends on what's going on that day.
RM: So what was going on today?
A.: Well, I had to get this report out the door...
RM: What was it on?
A.: [content omitted]
RM: What did you find?
A.: I can't talk about that for another month, when it's officially out.
RM: Well, I could just google it.
A.: You could, but you won't get any results until it's officially issued, a month from now.
RM: So after you turn your computer on, you get your coffee, or tea?

And so on until I cut the conversation off. It was actually a very frustrating day at work and I didn't want to talk about it. And who the f* cares about my routine? Have I ever, ever blogged about my routine at work? That's because there is nothing interesting about it whatsoever.

An hour or so later. I'm blogging.

RM: So, what is the name of the book you're writing?
A.: [dismissive laugh]
RM: What is the name of the book you're writing?
A.: I'm not writing a book.

He got the point, for a whole ten minutes. Then started talking again (just saying something silly to get my attention).

RM: Can you hear me?
A.: Yes, I can hear you. I'm trying not to, because I'm busy, but I can hear you.

Hopefully, with that, I have established that I'm not always up for conversation, just because I'm here. I'm willing to get more confrontational but I'm hoping that I won't have to. It's a six-month lease, with five months left, and he won't be here most weekends.