The person with whom I live
When I was young, my mother ran a youth group. As a result, at a very early age, I was aware of people going off to Oxford. By the age of three, I had decided that I wanted to do the same. This will turn out to be important.

The person with whom I live has been a part of my life for a long time. We were at primary school together, and when my work was pinned to the wall, he used to tear it off and throw it in the bin. He would predict with confidence that I would spend my adult life unemployed, and would point out that I had quite a little pot-belly.

When I went to high school, I thought I might be able to shake the person with whom I live - and he kept quiet a lot of the time, though he was reliably there in social situations making sure that I never got out of place: he did his best to point out every social and academic mishap. On occasion, he would he appear and encourage me to bang my head against walls or tables until my face bled as the just punishment for not understanding calculus or not being able to remember bits of Latin or Russian vocabulary. The person with whom I live has a stern sense of justice.

When I passed the Oxford entrance exam, I thought that that might shut up the person with whom I live - but when, post-interview, the rejection letter arrived, the person with whom I live framed it and hung it on the wall. It hangs there still, 14 years later, just above my screen as I write this, as a reminder of my failure to achieve the one thing that meant anything to me as a child.

When I went to university, I thought again that I might be able to shake the person with whom I live. Yet he shadowed me, reminding me about the limits to my abilities, about my body, about my social and emotional cack-handedness, about the disappointment to myself and everyone else that undoubtedly I was.

When I met CHCB, I made the mistake of thinking that I might have something to offer someone whom I admire. My home situation was difficult, but I wanted to find a way through that. The person with whom I live saved me the effort, though, by reminding me that, if I were to visit her, I'd have to eat without going to the gym. He would then calculate the meals I'd have to skip, and the extra hours I'd have to put in on the treadmill, to make up the deficit. The person with whom I live is helpful like that.

I never once caught the train. The relationship with CHCB ended before it began.

My current contract ends in July, and I am chasing three jobs at the moment - one of which is at my current institution, another of which is in Dublin. The person with whom I live thinks that I should withdraw my applications, or not send them in. After all, they won't amount to anything. He tells me this and explains his reasoning at length.

The person with whom I live is scornful of my writing this now. It is, after all, a Saturday evening. But he is good enough to remind me that I am ugly, tubby, pasty, uninteresting, and inept, and that it would be a waste of time to consider doing anything else. As I said - the person with whom I live is helpful.

The person with whom I live is called Iain, and I wish that he would go away.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Sat 28 Feb 2009, 20:59, 18 replies)

He should get together with the person with whom I live.
They'd have a blast.



Edit - Actually she's not as bad as she used to be. Eventually I had to have words and she withdrew a little. Silly bitch was ruining my life.
( girlinthehole, Sat 28 Feb 2009, 21:04, closed)

Hmmm...
You are not the only person on here with an effing annoying housemate. Not that that helps...
(grandmasterfluffles Come to my Armageddon party on, Sat 28 Feb 2009, 21:20, closed)

Well, if Iain sits you down
and asks you why people keep confusing you with him, then it's time to take stock.
(dxg, Sat 28 Feb 2009, 22:14, closed)

Click
This gets the click of the century from me.

Not everyone recognises they have an Iain, and having the guts to say that Iain exists takes guts indeed.

My personal Iain crops up occasionally, and I wish he'd go away too. But I have realised that he is a little like a Victorian relative at the end of the corridor at my party, telling me that I shouldn't do this, shouldn't do that, and that I'll regret it later. May be true, but at the end of that corridor, at my party, there is a door, and my personal Iain gets rudely shoved out of that door and told in no uncertain terms to sod off.

May you find your party, may you find that corridor, and, most importantly, may you shut that door.
(groover j lazerus, Sat 28 Feb 2009, 22:32, closed)

Have you thought of...
... cunting him in the fuck?
(SoneMe, Sat 28 Feb 2009, 23:05, closed)

Would that I could.
I've been trying for close on thirty years.

And I'm only 32.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Sat 28 Feb 2009, 23:33, closed)

I completely get this
Message edited for content.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Sun 1 Mar 2009, 0:18, closed)

I too
endorse the two of you as a couple.
( mistaspakkaman and the inedible shifting caterpillars, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 19:39, closed)

sweet cunting christ
why is it that the splendid people in this life such as yourself have such a critical cunt for a Jimminy Cricket?

Not fair, totally unjustified. Blessed are the mouth-breathing, pasty crumb wearing thickies in this world, for they have not the capacity for such personal self criticism.

I look forward to meeting you all the more now. Firstly to give you the biggest boob-squashing hug for being a top notch bloke. Secondly, to buy you the biggest, fuck-offest pint for your raw, candid honesty.


*edit*

Bonus clicks for not ending a sentence with a preposition ;o) xxx
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Sun 1 Mar 2009, 0:34, closed)

Basically
Next time he tells you to do something,
resolve to do the OPPOSITE.

IF you can try that just once and just live with the consequences you'll find he starts to pack up his things and eventually bugger off.
(lochii, Sun 1 Mar 2009, 2:51, closed)

ugly, tubby, pasty, uninteresting, and inept
I've seen your picture, and you look like none of these things.

Granted it's hard to judge ineptitude from a photograph. :)

If I were in your position I'd save a bit of cash and just disappear.
(oneltrchardonnay, Sun 1 Mar 2009, 13:19, closed)

i think were all wating for the CHCB response

( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Sun 1 Mar 2009, 15:19, closed)

This Iain dude
is far from unattractive IMHO.
As for the Oxford thing, I think it's time to drop that particular self-flagellation stick. I went there and you seem to have achieved a hell of a lot more than me, so it means nothing.
Chin up x
(jennymnemonic, Sun 1 Mar 2009, 17:30, closed)

Be mightily clicked.
Iain may unwittingly be the stepbrother of Simon, with whom I have an uncannily similar, and sinister relationship.

I have found that after drinking excessively I develop sufficient Dutch courage to drive Simon away for a while although this is hardly a constructive solution to a 40 year old problem.

Stunningly written - beautifully articulated. And maybe insoluble.
( The Disappointed Caravanner of the year, Sun 1 Mar 2009, 19:31, closed)

I went to Oxford
Fair enough, it was just for a night out on the piss...

Great post, have a click.
( SpankyHanky, Sun 1 Mar 2009, 20:03, closed)

this Iain talks a lot of bollocks
I've known you were awesome since we were at school.
(happylittletulip helpless and delicious, Mon 2 Mar 2009, 15:40, closed)

* clickyhugs *
and what everyone else said.
( mistaspakkaman and the inedible shifting caterpillars, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 19:42, closed)

I had an Iain too...
...I cut his feckin' throat when his back was turned, around about when I was 26.

He hasn't been an issue since.
(EffinDoubt is breaking glass on, Wed 4 Mar 2009, 14:57, closed)