There was a sense of safety I felt I had when I was in gloom. The best way to describe it would be to say it was mechanized. A self perpetuating gloom gizmo lethargically inducing the same expected results.
For instance, the apartment is fuck-filthy and far from poo-perfect in terms of sanitation. But I come waltzing in with my obsessive compulsive disorder (partial to perpendicular angles) and scrub the sin off everything. I also believe it’s a great trait for a maid to have, except I’m not. (I did want the reciprocation of proper sanitary practice, but that’s besides the point.) The point is, I expect them not to.
As far as the overcast in my heart goes, I expected them to leave me alone as they have, as I’ve made clear; their inadequacy in making me feel any better. However, I selfishly did not even think about the lengths they’d have to put up with. And when my own best friend (of whom is also a roommate of mine) finally scolded me, I felt terrible. Well, on top of what I’d felt before.
Everyone always expects me to be the fun guy, the guy that made everyone else feel better, but even the clown can get tired of his own jokes. My face had grown sore from the smiles it’d shine. It felt as though it had shone for too many moons and I thought the gloom would give me a break. That was selfish thinking, because fake smiling hurts a fuck of a ton less then a real friend’s hurt. I’ve got to go back to work.