It could only last so long. Once a haven, our house is now a den of what I’ll just call ACK.
The living room hasn’t been vacuumed in as long as I can remember, the hardwood floors haven’t been swept, and is it so hard to put empty toilet rolls in the plastic bin rather than drop them on the floor?
Did I mention that everyone barring T and myself has turned into complete and total alkies, drinking virtually every night? I marvel to him about how much we’ve spent on food, and he’ll reply by saying that they outspend us on alcohol alone. There are boxes lying on the ground outside, cans scattered both inside and out, 10 Jagermeister bottles forming a proud display on the dining table, bottles on the kitchen windowsill and worst of all, nasty, icky, sticky plastic twister shot glasses – you know, the prepackaged kinds you buy for $2 a pop – lining the counter. I’d had enough this week and cleaned up the counter side of the kitchen, but not again.
Did I also mention that our head flatmate (the one who followed us over from our last place) not only failed to get the rent out the other week but racked up overdraft charges in the process, and didn’t pay the water bill on time? And one of the other guys, who’s in charge of the Sky TV account, didn’t pay at all and racked up massive fees? (Thankfully, I don’t give a flying rat’s, seeing as I don’t watch or pay for it).
As much of a mess as they’re making – literally and figuratively – it’s SO very good to have a break from having all the responsibility. All I gotta worry about is food, keeping the bathroom hygienic, and paying our rent and share of the bills. It’s still nowhere near what our heinous ex-flatmate put me through.