It's Hot and It's Monotonous.

July 4, 2006 12:55PM

It's hot. I'm in the sun-room watching a white breasted nuthatch bounce up our red oak. Rolf is muttering over the computer in the office behind me. The air conditioner is wheezing and coughing, and there is a surreal sense that the leaves in the forest are being blown by the same fan that is blowing on me. I hope the iced vanilla vodka and espresso will help me over look the mess in here.

Bemmy is not here. He was not home yesterday when I got home from work; but Rolf was (looking tanned and handsome.)

We discussed our dilemma with BME. Although the thought of speaking to BME made me nauseous and panicked, I told Rolf that things have got to change. BME can live his life any way he wants too, but not necessarily here.

How can I tell him that he can't live here: defrauding unemployment, spending 15 hours a day searching for ways to fulfill his addiction to porn. Just as it was 17 years ago when he was living in our dining room, sleeping on a couch, and I was searching his belongings to count the empty liquor bottles, now I look to see what he's eating.

He's been sober for 15 years, and he's gained 200 lbs in those years. He's diabetic, has developed a heart problem, and he's become our roommate.

We never wanted a roommate. We love him, and he is a lot of fun, but we didn't mean to offer him to be our roommate. We offered a "platform from which he could become healthy and successful."

As Rolf and I became more impassioned about: Our disappointment, disgust, anger at being used, fear that he is killing himself with food and inactivity. . .

We decided to leave the note for him telling him to move by August 31. I got it out of my dresser, and took it to the basement and laid it on his computer keyboard. . and then ran.

Then we hid at the movies for 5 hours. He seemed to be in bed when we got home, and he was gone this morning.

I'm glad we've done it; it was killing him to live here.