Sick

I am sick of looking forward to getting home, only to remember why I hate being here once I get in.
I am sick of spending every night coughing and hacking my lungs up because I live in a house of smokers.
I am sick of the fact that even with my fucked up sense of smell, I hate the smell of smoke that pervades everything here.
I am sick of having to play nice for the sake of a simple life.
I am sick of the fact that I am only here by the grace of my friend, and that I can't afford to pay my own way.
I am sick of needing to rely on my friend for a simple roof of my head and food in my stomach.
I am sick of it constantly being freezing cold because the sash windows seemingly must be fully open all the time, leaving several good 3'x3' holes in the house.
I am sick of coming home to find the kitchen flooded, or my clothes soaked because it rained and someone couldn't be bothered to close the windows before they went out.
I am sick of never knowing what food there will be to cook with.
I am sick of whatever I buy disappearing before I have a chance to use it.
I am sick of having to factor in 30 minutes cleaning the kitchen before I can start making dinner, every single time
I am sick of having to devise my meals around what food remains, what space there is in the kitchen, and what happens to be clean.
I am sick of every time I do bother to tidy, it's back to the state it was within 24 hours at most.
I am sick of the cost of spending all day in coffee-shops, simply because it means I don't have to be in my house
I am sick of never knowing where I'm sleeping.
I am sick of never knowing who else is going to be staying here, of never even being asked so much if I mind
I am sick of operating a hostel for all and sundry when we already have 4 people in a 2 bedroom place.
I am sick of why one person almost always gets the bed, seemingly down to the sole fact that he moved his boyfriend in without asking and it became 'his' room.
I am sick of not having a proper space to call my own.
I am sick of the fact that the small corner I eked out for myself, by clearing other stuff , that no-one was using, I was asked to move before it had even been there a week.
I am sick of every time I leave it, coming back to find my keyboard, monitor, and speakers covered in cigarette ash.
I am sick of trying to fix any of this, or improve it, or tidy, or throw stuff out, or sort through it.
I am sick of taking regular 12 mile walks or making sure I come home so exhausted that I go straight to bed, just so that I don't end up physically hurting someone.
I am sick of keeping it all in and pretending this doesn't bother me.
I am sick of wasting my breath when nothing ever changes.