The Flatmates From Hell: Pt 5 the little things

So we pick up where we left off. Emma, was well dealing and the rest of the house had no clue. She would be gone for three days to a week at the time. Back and forth from the unit, medication changing and life just continued on.

Jamie was struggling at work due to the lack of sleep, I was working at my new job getting home at around 1am after being on my feet for 6 hours. Creeping into the house I could always hear B playing his video games from the mouse clicking and chair re shuffling.

We had been the house now for a couple of months. Emma wasn’t home, away at the unit again. Jamie was in bed.  I went to go make something to eat, maybe toast. However there were dishes everywhere, the sink was full and I wasn’t going to clean up someone else’s mess, not for what felt like the 1 millionth time. I also then remembered that we still had no vacuum cleaning. I  had been sweeping the floors and been told that B’s step dad was going to give us one. Two months deep, two months of filth. I was falling apart at the seams. So I didn’t make toast, I thought a tasty shower would be better.

I put my phone down, jumped in the shower, washed away the day then got out and picked up my phone. I tried not to scream. Or smash my phone. Or wash my soul in bleach. I simply dealt with the situation like a boss, and sent this very aggressive message.

“Hey team sorry about the late message and the late shower. 1. I don’t care if you trim your bodily hair. 2. I do care when you use the kitchen scissors and then leave a disgusting fucking mess in the bathroom. Please clean this immediately. Thank you.”

B had trimmed his beard hair with the kitchen scissors and then just left them strewn everywhere, the floor, the bench, the sink. IT WAS TOUCHING MY TOES! My clean toes. I just wanted a shower. When I picked up my phone and it had a film of hair on it, then I am sure you can understand why my aggressive message was sent.

So I ask you now to do the math. No vacuum cleaner, a couple who didn’t care, a boyfriend who could barely sleep, a flat mate who was in and out of the psychiatric unit, I was starting to crack.

This wasn’t what I signed up for and well I am literally living in filth. So I washed my feet again, crawled into bed only to hear A and B start arguing. Again.

 

 

Published by

serenpowelljones

A pretty sassy 23-year-old​ living in Auckland.

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