Addendum: You Fail At Dishwasher

Dear Flatmate,

The plates don't get clean if you load them so that the biggest plate is right in front of the smallest plate and touching it and blocking it from getting any of the spray. They also don't get clean if they are caked with food when you load them.

I hope the dishwasher that I just reloaded and started running keeps you awake tonight.

kthx.

passive-aggressive note: the conclusion

Flatmate is going home for the weekend, but before she left, we had to have this conversation (paraphrased, of course):

Flatmate: I'm sorry I didn't run the garbage disposal the other day, but please don't write me an angry note. I have to read angry notes and e-mails all day at work, and having to sit down to that at breakfast while I'm trying to get ready made me have a terrible day. I would really rather just talk it out.

Sigma: Sorry, it was a knee-jerk reaction, because I communicate better in writing than in speech. And we've talked about this several times before, but it clearly didn't sink in then, so I thought maybe seeing it in writing would do the trick.
(also i was angry and in general don't want to talk to you.) (no, that part did not happen out loud.)

Flatmate: [Dither dither] I know I am not consistent about the garbage disposal, but I do some things that you haven't done, like mopping the kitchen floor, or cleaning up the cats' vomit on the carpet. I want to know that it's alright for me to ask you to do things, as well. I would really feel better if we could just talk about these things, I think we're better friends than that.
blah blah blah [I can't remember what else I might have said here, I think I just made neutrally polite noises]
I know you're really busy and stressed out about grad school and stuff, but if you want to hang out, just tell me. I'm never sure if you're working on something or just surfing the web, so I've been going to Boyfriend's a lot, but I'd really like to do more stuff with you.
blah blah blah
Anyway.... [in a small voice] can i have a hug?

We hug

Flatmate: [begins to leave] [turns back to tell me gossip about her co-workers/former supervisor that i don't actually give a damn about since I'm trying to go back to my homework] [finally leaves]

Ugh. See, I want to live alone so I don't have to have these kinds of conversation. I have to screw up a lot of nerve to talk about stuff that bothers me, and usually addressing it just makes me more uncomfortable and bothered (not to mention really spooked and shaky afterward) (especially if confrontation is sprung on me like this), but if I'm the only person living there, stuff that bothers me will presumably be my own damn fault and I can either suck it up or fix it. This business of diplomacy and compromise? Not so much. At least, not in my own home. I don't want to have to be diplomatic in my own home, I am diplomatic and polite out in the world all fucking day.

Also, Helpful Hint: If I am taking refuge in my room and being uncommunicative, it's because I don't want to chit-chat about your day, or watch The Simpsons, or whatever. I want to be by myself in my room and unwind, or space out, or (god forbid) do homework. The door is open so the cats can roam freely about the house -- not because I want company.

And finally, thank you for skipping town while the cutting board, which is covered in parmesan cheese from your dinner two nights ago, is still sitting on the counter monopolizing the largest and most useful cooking surface.

No, you guys, I know I'm a bitch. I know.