Rebellious Thoughts of a Woman

The battle of the doors has been partially won by me, and partially by him. For two nights he kept his door opened. The first morning, upon seeing this, I accidently left the hall light on and made, perhaps, slightly more noise than usual in getting up. He turned off the light, but left his door open. But, when I went up, I couldn't find my way in the dark, so I needed to turn the light back on. The next time I went up, his door was closed. The next day he again left his door open, and he managed to sleep through the light and noise of three women getting ready to go to school at 5:30 am. But that was it. Now the door is closed--when he goes to sleep. When he leaves for the day, hours after I leave, he opens his door and closes mine. So each day when I come home I am unable to deny the reality of living in this ridiculous situation.

The countertop, oy. We are playing a game that no one is willing to give up on. It has become some sort of testament of the annimosity between us. (If only the judge could see this, he would certainly rule in my favor to reduce the price of the home and let us--and our daughters--out of this situation.) He puts his knife contraption on the countertop, I put it away. Unfortunately, he leaves last every day, so every day when I come home I see it, too (like the door) professing his presence in my life.

The thermostat. It's not just that he has never really taken anyone else's comfort into consideration, because this was always an issue of contention, but the absolute waste of money it is to put on an air conditioner when it is 64 degrees outside. It shows what a bubble boy he is, making things comfortable for himself and everything else be damned.