A whole lotta bitching here. A whole lot. I bitch well. I bitch about everything. That is what I do. My ID says "the bitcher" because I complain about every fucking thing in my life. So be warned if you don't know me. I bitch too much.
***********Bitch fest below.... last warning*********
So while I traveled back to Canada from the US it was a tearful goodbye and perhaps a tearful "I don't want to fucking go back" but hey... life is full of unwanted setbacks. Even if they come in the form of another roommate who just can't let me create even if I have told her that I need to do this creating thing.
I don't know why roommates like to rip away any uniqueness I thought I did have. "I've lived with artists before" "you're not special, you know. I've known artists." What kind of air am I creating here that I somehow claim to show that living with me will get them some kind of benefit card?
I am not special. I don't show anyone my artwork. Not anyone. I don't see how their getting into my business and being extremely creepy by looking for me online somehow gets me the impression that I am trying too hard here. I mean, if you have to fight tooth and nail and spend hours looking for me online, does this mean I'm trying too hard to make anyone see my stuff?
I am not special. I am not a good artist. Please stop mistaking my behavior for selfish promotion. I suck. There, you heard it right from the fish's mouth so stop trying to cut me down. I'm already at the bottom of the well, ok? I can clearly see your underpants from here.
Dunno about you guys but this roommate, although she's helped me out a lot and although I am stuck with no job here and no money, asking for every extra hour I have to spend with her watching movies (we don't share the same interests) or eating dinner (preferably the food I buy because she wants to share food and wants me to call her whenever I make myself something to eat... whoooaaa no-ness. A whole lotta nope going on here.)
We're just roommates and I'm just renting space here. The furniture in this room isn't mine and the pictures on the wall aren't mine. This room isn't mine it's just a really expensive room for rent in a very big impersonal city that doesn't care about other people. (I'm paying $800 for this room here. That's just the room. No expenses included) With this expense I also have to become lapdog/pack mule.
I came home Weds morning but was physically unable to do anything due to carrying too much shit. Entirely too much shit.
I had a conversation with the roommate about cat litter and what was easier on my back but she wanted cheaper. She wanted an option that didn't stick to the clothes she carelessly left on the floor. So we switched to clay, despite my pleading that this will hurt my back. So I come home and she emails me (FROM THE ROOM BESIDE ME) that the litter is so heavy. (NO SHIT) and that it was hard for her to take down the stairs so she wants me to take 3 weeks worth of litter down today for the compost. FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
So I rested more and more. Possibly going to take a shower since carrying five 20-30lb bags from the bus depot had literally worn me out. Took me 2 hours to get home from a 15 minute subway ride. And I fell twice on the subway. Three ladies ended up helping me out.
So this morning the roommate emails me again saying I should have asked her to come down (You know, so she could decline because she apparently has pneumonia and is curing it with a puffer. Or so she says...) <--- So the cats have not been fed properly in 3 weeks. Hence why they've been ripping open bags of hard food that she casually leaves in the middle of the kitchen floor. This kitchen looks like hell.
So she says that the house hasn't been touched in 3 weeks because she's had Pneumonia. :|
The house smells of cat piss. Cat piss everywhere. The cats are going nuts because the litter boxes haven't been cleaned in 3 weeks. They are going everywhere. More chores for me. Great. I love coming back to stress.
Not to mention I have to continue my job search. -sigh- I hate my fucking life. I really do.