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You see, several months back when we announced to our parents and friends that we were moving in (and to our roommates that they would have to find new roommates (in my case) or new homes (in Matrix�s case)), we must have been so hopped up on love and happiness that we were both simultaneously a little too na�ve, and a little too nice.

Na�ve in thinking that Matrix would be a progressive about the process, and too nice in that Matrix requires something of a firm hand when it comes to� motivation.

You see, when Matrix moved in 8 months ago, it was with the knowledge that it would mostly likely be a temporary thing. Matrix had been with his girlfriend Heath for over a year and a half, and they were discussing moving in together. We made him aware that Chip and I were discussing this as well, so when it came to the conditions of the move-in, Chip said (and I quote) �six months, minimum.� As that sounded about right for Matrix and Heath�s inevitable cohabitation, Matrix signed right up.

The kid was getting the deal of the century. The master bedroom of a 2 bedroom/2 bath (w/ den), completely furnished (Matrix had a bed, a dresser and a chair as the sum total of his apartmently possessions�no dishes, no appliances, electronics (other than a PC and an iPod), nothing) apartment. And when I say fully furnished, I mean furnished by Pottery Barn standards, not those of the common room at the FIJI house, as he was used to. And he was paying $800/month for the pleasure. No person in TOWN has this kind of deal, trust me.

At first, he was a dream to live with. Clean, respectful, a little overzealous with the eating of Chip�s food, but hey�nobody�s perfect. Sadly, two months after the move-in, Matrix and Heath broke up.

And things changed.

Matrix started treating the place like he planned to live there forever, and also like a pledge who�d just made it through an arduous hazing ritual and was now free to puke all over the couch like any other frat brother. (Which he has done.)

It quickly became clear that the �conscientious� part of the Conscientious Roommate had been completely inspired and maintained by the Conscientious Roommate�s Girlfriend, not the Roommate himself. The eating of Chip�s food only increased, in perhaps not direct proportion to the increase in stumbling home drunk at 4am and passing out/puking on Chip�s couch.

Chip and I decided in February that when my lease was up in April, I would move in, and Matrix could move out. I mean, not only was I already contributing to the grocery budget, but I was pretty damn clean and always managed to make it to the bathroom when I DID have to puke.

And, even though we�d told him six months before, that he was safe for six months (and who knows how long after that) in the apartment, Matrix looked like he�d been hit by a car when told (at the beginning of February) that I was moving in in April, and he�d have to move out. Somehow, when his plans for the future changed with the breakup of he and Heath, he somehow had convinced himself that everyone else�s future plans changed, too.

Now, Chip and I are not completely unfeeling, horrible people, and we were and are friends with Matrix. We knew that he was working full time and also pursuing his MBA in night classes and that his finals would be toward the end of April/beginning of May. We told him that we didn�t want to make him move in the weeks leading up to finals week and that if he needed a little extra time, we could cohabitate (the three of us) for a month so he would have time to both study and find a new place.

Well, his last final is tonight, he has a new place all lined up (moving in with another friend of ours who has an open room) which is empty and waiting for him, and� he�s not moving out until the end of this month.

Chip and I were initially afraid that with all three of us living in the apartment for a month that there would be the inevitable claustrophobia that would accompany he and I sharing a small bedroom, closet and bathroom, and were very afraid that it would lead to fights between the two of us. Well, the claustrophobia has set in and we�re both going absolutely stir crazy, but our ire and rage are not, as we�d expected, directed at each other, but solely, and completely directed at Matrix. In short, we want to kill him.

We�re sick to death of tripping over shit, because we have no where to store half of my stuff (until we have that extra bedroom). We�re sick to death of Matrix eating our food and drinking our liquor. (We walked in one night and the carnage of Matrix�s �entertaining� (pre-partying) was sitting out on the coffee table in the form of two empty cans of 7-Up, a wine glass, and a quarter of a bottle of Chip�s previously unopened bottle of Grey Goose.) We�re sick of him asking if there are any new �surprise paintings� because we painted the den (that Chip pays twice the rent for the pleasure of using (which is now storage, thank you)) and the dining room, when I�m sorry, but you�re moving OUT and don�t OWN ANYTHING HERE and even though you have extreme boundry issues that isnt' your room, what the fuck do you care what we�re painting? We�re sick to death of Matrix not wanting to pay for the phone bill because he hardly ever buzzes anyone in. I�M sick to death of cleaning up the apartment only to have Matrix spill shit and LEAVE IT. We�re sick to death of Matrix just leaving the apartment door wide open because he went down to do laundry and was TOO LAZY to just unlock the door and CLOSE IT (nice that you don�t own anything here to get stolen, dude, but I DO, and YOU LIVE WITH A GIRL NOW, SO CLOSE THE FUCKING DOOR SO THEIVES AND RAPISTS DON�T HAVE AN OPEN INVITATION, GOD!). And we are in a full RAGE that his finals are done, his new place is empty, and yet he�s STAYING in OUR APARTMENT FOR ANOTHER FUCKING MONTH.

I was on a rampage last night. All it took was me stubbing my toe on another unpacked (because we don�t have anywhere to PUT ANYTHING) box and the fact that Chip brought up that he�s worried that Matrix will throw a little party while we�re gone the third week of May. Because, well, he�s done that before. Only we came home and found that someone had slept in our bed. SQUICK. And I was off and running. Oh, the rage, people, THE RAGE.

I am a woman on the edge, and I swear, I don�t think I can make it to the end of this month without killing anyone. And yes, �Anyone� = Matrix. Who, will hopefully remain our friend after the move-out, but is not going to be invited over for a VERY. LONG. TIME.