A bit later, after I'd prepared a playlist of relaxing songs to listen to while in the bath, I went in to start running the water. Here's what I found:
|What the fuck?!|
Let me translate what you're seeing here: those are several of my towels, sticking out of the toilet. Closest to the back of the toilet bowl is my Superman towel. The light-colored towel with the pattern on it is my Winnie the Pooh towel. Then my purple towels, then my orange hand towel. Sticking out of the toilet bowl.
Not surprisingly, this did not lower my stress levels.
Once I was able to breathe evenly and think in actual words, I knocked -- firmly for a.m. Saturday, but not as aggressively as could be justified upon finding one's bath towels in the toilet -- to ask my roommate how my towels had ended up in the toilet, and why they were still there. He looked terrible, and not just in the "someone woke me up abruptly" way, which is probably why he's still alive. After some confusion about what I was asking him, he managed to explain to me that he's on an antibiotic that he's just started taking, that it's making him really dizzy, and that when he got up and went to the bathroom this morning, he fell and hit his head, and must have knocked the towels into the toilet at that point. He somehow didn't realize he'd done this, and got back into bed.
Now, I have to believe him. I have to believe that the crashing I heard was him falling, and probably trying to grab onto the metal rack that my towels are on. One of the screws that holds it against the wall is loose (it's always been loose), so it wouldn't have helped. And, sure enough, that screw has been pulled out of the wall in a way that suggests someone tried and failed to use the shelf to stabilize himself.
I have to believe that he was really out of it, which is why he fell, and why he didn't realize that he'd knocked my towels into the toilet. I have to believe that he knocked my towels into the toilet, despite the fact that there are just enough of them to fill the bowl, that there are none on the floor, and that nothing else fell down.
Did I mention that the toilet hadn't been flushed, so my bath towels were knoecked into a toilet full of urine, then left there?
I hope that this antibiotic makes him fall down again. No - hear me out! I hope that this antibiotic makes him fall down again, because it will reinforce that he is not in control of himself right now, and that he obviously didn't intentionally place my bath towels in a toilet full of urine and leave them there to soak. Now, it's possible that falling down again would also mean hitting his head again, and maybe getting hurt worse than before, but I think that would be OK.
Because the fact that I have to believe him -- I am not yet capable of being the human being who does not believe him -- doesn't mean that I don't hate him. Oh, no, not the way I did before, which was really just me not wanting him to be my roommate anymore. No, now I hate him for real. I hate him the way you'd hate someone who left your towels soaking in urine. Just like that. And if that makes me a horrible human being in *this* life?
|I hate him.|
I'm ok with that this morning.