The hardest part about college is dealing with the people who never took the time to grow up. When I say grow up, I don't mean giving sugar binges or waking up on Saturdays for work and not cartoons. Real maturity. The kind that makes you deal with problems and not ignoring them. Especially when I comes to someone you consider your friend. Especially when you're the one that was wrong.
Okay, wrong is a strong word. Let's just say that this person was "misguided and uninformed". And let's just call her Erica. Her name isn't Erica, but I've yet to meet one that I like so it fits. It's not Erica's fault that she believed--for reasons known to her and God alone--that I would be okay with her random decision to write my name as well as my desired roommates on her dorm room application. Without telling either of us. She couldn't have thought about how it wouldn't work out. Maybe Erica overlooked the fact that her sister HATES the girl I actually wanted to room with. Though I think that's quite impossible because Erica's sister hates this girl in a creepy I-would-kill-you-if-I-only-could-get-away-with-it kind of way.
Erica's intentions must have been pure. Misguided but pure.
All of this information came out so suddenly that we could not discuss why this arrangement wouldn't work. Because of limited space, my actual roommate and I needed to find two more people to fill a four-person campus apartment but it was made quite clear that Erica and whoever it was she signed us up with were not being considered.
When the bottom dropped out, Erica shifted the blame on me. Now when she sees me, she relies on the classic "Something is painfully interesting in the opposite direction" stare to avoid acknowledging my existence. You know, instead of just owning up to the mistake or asking why her brilliant secret plan didn't work.
Not that I care. I wasn't really friends with her anyway. We were just polite associates. Which might make a person wonder why I wrote about it in the first place then.
It was just something to do.
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