You're supposed to yell "Freeze!" before blowing someone's head off!

[insanocide]

The day before yesterday, my roommate informed me that she wanted to use the other half of my basement as a rumpus room and time-out chamber for the obnoxious and bloodthirsty kitten she purchased last month (yet doesn’t have time to care for). Yesterday after some thought I tried to veto the idea, not only feeling that it wouldn’t teach the cat

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[insanocide]

In fact, she's the one who sold me on the idea. When I put out an e-mail A.P.B. back last October for someone to rescue me from my living situation in Portland, she was the first (and only) person to respond with a possibility. She even sold me on the idea! I suggested that she get a place she could afford easily on her own, because I wasn't going to be able to pay much in the way of rent starting out, and what I would be able to pay after that would be dependent upon what kind of job I was able to get quickly. She said that that was all more than fine, that she wasn't obligating me to anything except that I have a job within a month after I got there (which I did). I told her I'd take care of most of the housework to make up for what I couldn't give her for rent, and I still do by a wide margin (especially as she never does any). I'm fulfilling my end of the bargain on a daily basis! The main issue is, she keeps changing the bargain in her own head and forgetting to let me know about it.

And yes, sad to say, she does think I'm a flea. She thinks I'm utter leperous scum because I don't worship the almighty dollar or care if I ever get rich. I create for the sake of creation rather than for money, and her materialistic, plastic little mind can't handle that. She also tends to think there's a soap opera cameraman following her around at all times, so she likes to initiate unnecessary drama. And to top it all off, she believes... truly believes... that any idea that doesn't come from her head is a bad idea.

I don't understand it. All I know is that I have got to get out of here before my presence offends her in some other unforseen fashion, and I come home one day to find my stuff in a broken pile in the middle of the parking lot.

I've talked to her boyfriend. He says she still feels justified in blowing up at me the other day and regrets nothing she said nor the way she said it. And while he also says he thinks she's being ridiculous (because she purposefully yelled loud enough the other night for him to hear every last word), he won't dare say so in front of her face, because she's got him so tightly wrapped around her finger that I barely trust him either... and he and I get along famously generally.

I feel jailed here... I really do. I'm trying to avoid stepping on a giant button that could blow me to kingdom come. I'm cowed... I'm beaten... I'm completely at her mercy. I need to resort to "yes mistress, yes mistress" tactics until I can find a way out.