It came as a surprise to me when I first realized but I think I might be done living together with others. I thought it would be fun and money saving with the 5 of us, but it’s slowly turning out to be neither. Perhaps it just might be the people I’m living with, maybe their collective behavior, maybe just the concept of living together or quite possibly, it could just be me, but I’m gradually growing sick of the whole thing. I thought sticking to my room and girlfriend’s would help, but seems not to.
Others tell me it’s the “little things” you have to learn to live with, but I can handle the little things. I don’t give a shit if the toilet paper is backwards or a bike blocks me in the hallway. It’s not even the bigger things, no- it’s a repetitive combination of all of those. A general attitude that I don’t agree in the least with, bringing a complete lack of communication and “fuck it” message to others.
Things that have stuck with me since my early teenage years end up broken at astonishing rate. Glasses, mugs, but even speakers and electric razors. General wear and tear, one might argue, but wear and tear doesn’t blow up speaker cones or smashes electronics to pieces.
Nothing stays where I left it, usually because I tend to leave it all over the place and “the place” is used by others so they move my shit. A valid excuse, I agree, but having to search for an oven and a mattress in one week, both disappeared from the spot they belonged in, is stretching it.
Dialogue happens through common friends and notes with lots of exclamation marks. Information comes in the form of “He/she says this or that about you” much more often than “Hey, could you…” and generally via people who don’t even live here. Even much less is said along the lines of “Hey, I dropped your razor to shit, I’m fucking sorry and if it is beyond repair, let’s pitch in together because it’s the last one in the house and now none of us can shave.” This isn’t the first time I live together but everyone so far seemed to care in the least if their pet ate my food or took a shit on my belongings.
The money that I save in rent goes to bills (that all go entirely through me) for gas, electricity and water that I use very little of and no one really cares to pay back in time, and shit that gets broken, eaten or used the moment I leave them in a common space.
This awful passive-aggressive bullshit works contagious too, up to the point where I’ll write shit down and shove it on the internet before I’ll knock on their door. I’m not the easiest person to live with either, I know that: I was a week late with the dishes (lord do I hate dishes) and my stuff is everywhere. But nothing, nothing that I ever did, serves as an excuse for finding a fucking couch, dirty with cat hair and ass sweat, in my god damn bed.
I think it’s time to move out.