As I mentioned in yesterday’s post, I moved far too often in 2005 and the place I’m writing about today I lived in only for 2 months one summer. Shortly after I moved in, my housemate and I received notice that the owners were going to renovate and sell the house.
It had seemed a good deal at first. I had found an ad for an affordable place in Ottawa’s Westboro neighbourhood (the part of the city we live in and love). V came with me to check it out and it turned out he’d played on an ultimate team with the guy who was looking for a housemate – so he could vouch for him as a nice guy and likely a good roommate.
The space I rented was the little attic level of a small bungalow. The ceilings were low and sloped – but I’ve always had a thing for little garret places, so I was fine with that. One small room had a mattress on the floor beside a window looking over the front yard. The other room held my books, a small tv and my papasan chair. It all seemed fine – although poor insulation and lack of a/c made the attic quite hot and stuffy, driving me to sleep on a cot in the basement a few times.
The first bad break was the news that we were being kicked out. Then my housemate invited a girl he knew to stay with us while she was in between places. She wasn’t his girlfriend yet – that would happen just before we all moved out – but she definitely was into him and definitely was possessive – of him and his house.
I didn’t care about her possessiveness of my housemate – nice guy and all, but I wasn’t interested – but I would tell V that the two of us in the house were like two dogs pissing on everything to mark territory. I resented having an extra roommate in an already small place – and someone I hadn’t chosen at that. She seemed to resent my general presence. So we stomped around, the two of us, staking our petty claims and biding time till the lease ended. What a life.
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