Luck getting through this one, but this idiot was a piece of work:
I think that psychologists tend to raise fucked up kids.

This is (mostly) sampled from e-mails I've sent out to folks who allow me to vent in their direction.
It starts two months into our stay in this house:

Not so much two men living here as a man and a boy.
I'm up late being pissed (yes, getting pissed, too) and taking measures like: everything I don't like seeing in the kitchen grocery bags he moved in with) goes into the nearest cupboard. He can unpack when he's ready to go root around for his stuff. This does not include the bathroom; things he uses every day are kept on the counter in plastic grocery bags, into which they are replaced after use.
I just tried shutting his bedroom door (again) to avoid the gaze of the thing that bubbles and gibbers in the center of the chaos (Azathoth: a friend of mine from years past, I suppose, though I don't care to do more than have a few drinks with it these days) only to find his good-clean-shirts are hung on the *outside* doorknob.
You may laugh now.
At least I have the excuse to abandon the pretention that two people will decorate the place; I may treat it as my own, but for the clothes actually strewn about the *living-room*, etc., etc..
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I'm still pissed off: the next time I see him I need to ask him (quote) "Why do we knock on doors?"
My *kid* seems to think that it's to announce that he's coming in within the next two seconds. So this is how I wake up, halfway through my sleep cycle (hasn't happened in a couple of weeks, until around 10 am yesterday):
(knock-knock)
(two seconds elapse, my door opens)
(whisper:)"Mark?"

Okay: Whothefuckelse?
And: Who is he trying not to disturb by whispering?
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Robbie patiently explained to me yesterday how he didn't want his shirt to get wrinkled, so he had spread it on the back of the most substantial piece of furniture in the living-room. Which was my chair.
The day before, we had discussed him keeping his clothes in his bedroom.
I guess he was dissapointed to find his shirt wadded up and flung into the trash-heap that is his room.
I guess he thinks those little wire triangles the dry-cleaner leaves in his shirts are disposable one-use shape-holders.
What he thinks of the little tiny alcove of his room with the bare light-bulb and horizontal dowel is anybodies' guess.
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I can't find the e-mail that covers our discussion as to the use of towel bars, of which there are two in our bathroom.
He tried using one for his towel, and one as his hamper.
Deprived of one of the bars he chose to use the curtain rod for his towel bar, then top of the bathroom door (this is day after day after day).
So I told him I need to not move his towel around every day of my life. So the next night he leaves, and it's on the toilet seat with his clothes. Then he scolds me for leaving a nasty message on his cellphone voice-mail. He didn't know that when I moved his stuff into his room, I spat on the towel a couple or three times.
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This is five months into the drama, and it's nearly done. (present day):
Oy, what a week;
During the last seven days the phone service has been cancelled (phone was in R.'s name, electricity in mine), (Robbie ignored two letters from the phone company I didn't know about), I've been handed an eviction notice (I had no idea that he hadn't paid his half of the rent)(he huffed like the lady at our door was inconveniencing him, told her she should have called (maybe that was his Mom-- didn't look like her--) and wrote the check), and he's shown his propensity for sleeping on my couch in the livingroom (despite the fact that I've told him not to) because he has no bed (his bedroom looks like a flea market). This morning he said he should be allowed to sleep on the couch in his own house once in a while, and it's true that he only spends the night here once in a while...
What a fucking jerk.

It was an unusual effort to maintain our friendship, considering that I have no more in common with him than with any guy off the street, I just thought he was a positive, really together character, for some reason, and he had taken a liking to me, stopping by all the time to visit my (ex-) girlfriend and I.
Effort over.
(Smoked Oysters Yes, magick helmet! And I will give you a sample!, Fri 13 Apr 2007, 3:55, Reply)