I love you but....

Jack has yet to move out of my place and find his own place. He has yet to find a job. He has yet to decide what he wants to do for a job now that he has retired from nomadic do-gooding. I love him, but it's going to be 90% humidity all week--too muggy to live in sin with my boyfriend. Also, I don't know how long my roommates are going to put up with his freeloading. Frankly, I don't care about Roommate Bad's feelings--as he put a completely empty Britta back into the fridge. I went to pour myself a glass of water and not a drop escaped from the white plastic spout.--Yeah, he can go screw. However, Roommate Good must have reached his limit. Roommate Good swears he didn't even know anyone else was staying here until I told him, but Roommate Good is overly giving and doesn't like conflict.

Roommate feelings are really secondary. Jack's presence in my apartment combined with my current unemployment status has made me complacent. Instead of writing and rehearsing comedy Jack and I sit in my room and debate Coehler's "The Alchemist" or other such nonsense until about 5pm when we remember we need to eat and watch reruns of the Sabrina, The Teenage Witch. He doesn't research apartments, I check my email constantly, and nothing gets done--except each other of course. He brings up the idea of him starting a blog, but I really don't have it in me, not now. Then he tells me stories not of his extensive travels but of his days with the Steelers. How he saw this kid at Leighigh University throw for 420 yards in single game. This Junior (non-redshirted) was only 5ft 2in.--shorter than Doug Floutie. "Only one inch taller than you, Rachael! Isn't that amazing! And then he didn't sign with us. He thought it'd be safer to play arena football."
"What do you expect from someone who plays football for Leighigh?"
"Oh you had to see him play."

Basically, he needs to get out of my place, we need maybe to miss each other a little bit again.