My roommate/best friend/ex-lover would say he gets blamed for stuff I do around the house. For example, I can’t find X and demand to know what he’s done with it. He insists he hasn’t touched X, but I know better because I NEVER misplace things. I slam, bang, and cuss for the next fifteen or twenty minutes, only to discover that X is exactly where I left it. I just forgot.

For a dozen years now, nothing has ever been my fault. If something doesn’t get done–not my fault. If it gets done wrong, that’s not my fault either. If I gained weight, it’s because he cooked too much fattening food. It’s his fault I don’t get as much exercise as I need, too. Sure, I could go to the gym with him at five every morning. Yawn. I’d go if he went at a more reasonable time of day.

You see the trend…

He’s very good about holding me accountable for my actions in a way that usually doesn’t piss me off. It’s his gift, really. In more than fifty years on this planet, he’s the only person I’ve encountered with this particular ability. He doesn’t let me get by with much. When I overeat or skip a trip to the gym, he teases me about my healthy lifestyle or my commitment to the plan.

The transition we started with our restructuring plan is going surprisingly well. He’s moved into the other bedroom. But otherwise, the casual observer would be hard-pressed to notice that anything has changed between us. The biggest difference is that we’re even more likely than we’ve always been to do our own thing. I’ve been writing like crazy. He went to the compound last weekend, is heading to Nashville for a conference tomorrow, and when he gets back, will have a day or two here before he heads to Hawaii for two weeks for his dad’s wedding.

All this to say I’m slowly adjusting to being on my own. I realized today that the big challenge is going to be holding myself accountable without somebody around to call me on my sh*t.  I’m pretty sure I can do it. After all, I am a grown ass man and king of…

My Glass House