It’s exhausting always being the bad guy.

The other day my housemates all ganged up on me just because I don’t shrink from expressing frustration when things go wrong — even if it’s in my own room with the door closed.

It seems I’m expected to play at being Anne Frank, and be so silent nobody can tell if I’m even there or not.

I’m in the doghouse for every little thing. Meanwhile, Phillip gets coddled.

No matter what I do, I’m the bad guy, apparently. Whether it’s being friendly with a young man I see around all the time… or being upset when a roomie promises me a ride home in the evening and then I never get a call because he input the wrong number into his phone… or if I go to open a bag with prescriptions just collected from the pharmacy, only to find that one of the bottle caps has come off and pills go flying everywhere and I say “Oh, FUCK!”… nope, all those things make me evil, it seems…

A little empathy thrown my way once in a while would be nice… not too much… I wouldn’t want anyone to break a sweat or anything…