I suppose I could beat myself up over this situation, recognize that a large part of it was due to my lack of diligence, accept some of the blame, shake my head at my foolishness. But that ain't gonna fucking happen, not yet anyway. I am too pissed off to do the "lessons in hindsight" thing.
To recap, I acquired Josh less than 3 weeks ago as a roommate. He's about 35, sort of goofy, seemed a good kind of kid, albeit more kid than grown-up. He paid the rent, the check didn't bounce. He didn't spend a lot of time here, said he was at his girlfriend's house, which was fine with me.
Last week, starting last Friday, I went to Kenwood to house and dog sit for my brother Steve. It was a lovely week, his house is quiet and well equipped, the garden is a crazy mess of poppies and grapevines, wild sage and weeds. It's less than 5 miles from my work, another added benefit. For me it was sort of like a mini vacation while working. I came back to the Santa Rosa house this past Tuesday for an hour or so, to pick up a few things, use the computer, blah, blah. All was well.
Yesterday, Friday, I packed up my stuff at Steve's and came back to SR because Steve was going to be home that evening. As I pulled onto my street I saw my roommate's car at an odd angle to the curb, front door open, roommate passed out in the front seat. Not a good sign. I came into the house, to a smell of tar and oil, heard his dog in the bedroom, behind closed doors, yapping. I walked into the kitchen and into a frigging wasteland of obnoxious mess. Dog poop in the hallway and on the kitchen floor, filthy dishes and cans and rags all over the kitchen, the stove was covered in something burnt, ashes, small pieces of wood and some dark reddish brown powder all over the place, as if something had exploded. The back patio had more burned pieces of something, glops of black stuff dripped on the concrete, rolled up tin foil that was burned almost black.
All in all, a shocking and awful mess. I went back out to the car, yelled at Josh, "what the fuck is going on here?" and his spaced out response of "oh, my car broke down and I had to sleep out here all night" made no sense. He had a key, the dog was inside, what is this all about? He came in, opened the door to his room, the dog had peed and pooped in the room, the floor of the room was covered with junk: clothes, tools, a computer that had been gutted, boxes, just a huge mess.
I lost it. I was furious and shocked and mortified that this happened in my home. It was as if someone came in and pissed all over my stuff, a violation of every good thing you can think of. And I was a bit frightened as well, to tell you the truth. Who was in the house? How did this happen? What actually happened?
I yelled for a while, told him to get his stuff out of my house by dark. Josh's car was in pieces on the street, a result of him trying to get it to run. He "worked on it" all day. I sat on my little red couch in the little TV room and tried to calm down, read for an hour, tried to get myself out of the immediate moment. Finally, I realized I had to make this go away so I started to clean. I spent a couple of hours cleaning the kitchen, which helped in a cathartic and real way.
I talked to my neighbors: seems the police had visited the house during the week, looking for Josh but he wasn't here. I am still trying to get some answers from the police about why they were called to find him, and I should have some of those answers after this holiday weekend.
Steve came over about 6:00 and hung out with me for a couple of hours, mainly because there were some very unsavory characters stopping by outside to chat with Josh. Basically homeless people, who I never think too unkindly of until yesterday. I simply did not want them, or Josh, near my house.
As the evening wore on and Steve and I talked, I realized that I wasn't actually afraid of Josh, I didn't think there was a personal threat there, I was just in such unfamiliar territory. I have lived through lots of stuff and have pretty good internal resources to deal with things. I can make quick decisions if necessary, make things happen, clear the decks and find a different perspective. But in this situation I was totally out of my element, it seemed. I honestly had no idea how to handle this. Should I call the cops? Should I leave the house? Should I take all his stuff and throw it on the lawn? It's a helpless feeling, being that stymied. And no one likes to feel helpless.
But the day wound down and Steve went home and I locked every single window and door and bolted the gate and went to bed. Josh knew he couldn't get in. I am pretty sure he slept in his car last night, with his dog, and he is still out there today, at 4:30, still trying to "fix his car" which is obviously never going to happen. (Well, I shouldn't say never, but the odds of that car ever running again are the same as me winning the lottery. Slim to none.)
There has to be an ending date. His stuff needs to be out of this house ASAP. I am trying to figure out how to engineer that. What happens after that is the after part. I will plan that later. I just need to get through this awful chapter first and burn some sage and then move on.
I don't think Josh is a bad person. I think he has attracted some real losers, part time druggies, and he probably gives them money for drugs and shares the drugs with them now and then. But really, who cares? Bad or good, lost or found, he's got to go.
Ah, I could go on, and I will, later. The saga never ends, does it?
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