Love Geometry

Dear You,

I am beginning to wonder why things in life have to be so complicated. Why can't people just be honest? Not only with themselves, but with each other? Why do we mess with each others' minds? Worse yet, what reason could there possibly be to play with someone else's emotions?

In case you hadn't noticed, I am in the midst of an existential crisis. Part of this was brought on by the two houseguests my roommate and I currently have. I don't mind houseguests. I mind drama. Frankly speaking, I hate drama. I am the girl who tears up over somebody else's heartbreak, or heartache, and this time is no exception. Our houseguests are in a fairly serious conflict. One of our guests is male (and also my roommate's sort-of boyfriend), the other female. Let's call them... Bob, and Laura. We'll call my roommate Jane. (This is just for argument's sake, as well as for their personal privacy. I am sure that at least one, if not all three of them would murder me in my sleep if they knew I was writing you about this. It is a very personal issue.)

Bob and Laura drove here from a far away place. I won't tell you where. Prior to their leaving, Bob and Laura had a mild romantic encounter (described to me after the fact as "making out."). They then hopped into Laura's car and drove for over 24 hours (I won't tell you how much over) so that Bob could come back to be with Jane (my room mate). Both Bob and Laura are staying in Jane's and my apartment. Laura, upon seeing Jane and Bob together is bitterly unhappy. I can't say as I blame her, exactly. Were I in Laura's shoes, I don't think I'd have even so much as had the guts to make the drive here in the first place. So, here is poor Laura, sleeping on a pull-out sofa in my living room, trying to make the best of things, while Bob and Jane are playing happy couples in the next room. Bob knowing all the while that Laura can hear them. Jane blissfully ignorant. Laura... totally miserable.

I only know this information because I am the kind of person who cares a lot about people in general. I feel responsible for Laura, and for Bob, because they are staying under my roof. At the moment, most of my caring and wishing I could be of more use is extended to Laura. I can only imagine how horrible this situation must be for her, and I want to be able to fix it. Most of what I feel for Bob at the moment is an undying urge to knock his block off. To make him choke on his own teeth. I won't do it, though. Not to worry. I won't do it, because I don't know how Jane will react. I won't do it, because I promised Laura I wouldn't say or do anything. I won't do it, because I am not a violent person. Still, the image of the way his face would look with my fist alongside it is something that keeps playing in my head. I fill with anger from the bottoms of my toes right up to my scalp every time I can hear his voice outside my door, and I fill with blinding rage every time I see him in person.

I may not always get along with my roommate, but that doesn't mean I don't love her, and that I don't want what's best for her. In no way, shape, or form, is Bob what is best for her. He doesn't know that I know what he did. Jane doesn't know any of it. The whole thing is a great big mess, and I have no idea what to do.

I have asked for advice from my friends, and even they're conflicted. Some of them say I should pull Jane aside and tell her what Bob did. The others say I should keep my mouth closed. I am stuck between a rock and a hard place, here. All I really and honestly want to do is run away. Pack my things, put my cat in her carrier, and find somewhere else to be. If I had a car, I would sleep in that instead of here... at least until Laura and Bob leave. Laura's under the impression that they'll both go back to where they came from. Jane's under the impression that Bob may never leave again.

I kind of hope Bob gets run over by a train.

The really stupid thing? This isn't even the half of what's on my plate to deal with from an emotional perspective right now.

I'll write you more later.

With angst,

- A.