No longer as truthful as should be deserved, some names, places and events deliberately vague to protect identities that aren't mine

Wednesday, 10 October 2012

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.

3 comments:

  1. I'm sick of the fact I have fuck all power to hug or help a very worthy and amazing person.

    that and i'll agree with pretty much all of yours for me [tangibly]

    Your special, kind, amazingly cool, loving, huggable and superman.

    xxx

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  2. I am a new reader but I have been sick of all of these things at some point or another. I feel your pain. I hope things improved or have improved since you wrote that.

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  3. You fucking massive hypocrite. You are the laziest, most untidy, self righteous prick I've ever met. I'm glad you're sick about these things, cause apart from the smoking, you've now experienced what everyone else has to put up with with you.

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