Toilet paper. Lack of. This requires no further explanation.

I will never know Scheissenbedauern

It is always as bad as I thought, or worse. I suppose technically that makes me an optimist.

I spent the day today cleaning up the disasters left by The Flatmate. I had a latte with the newspapers, did a bit of gardening. And started cleaning up around the nest The Flatmate has created on the lounge. I have to go digging in there for the remote. There is all sorts of shit in there. I swear to god I wouldn't be surprised to see a leathery egg incubating in there.

I cannot bring mysef to touch her shit. And that means I am surrenderng territory to her. It becomes hers, unassailable and feculent.

Anyway the house was starting to look presentable again at about three o'clock this afternoon. Then She came home, still drunk. She muttered something about vomit, dropped all her crap right in the middle of the floor in front of me and stormed upstairs.

Todays reason I hate my dickhead flatmate: She comes home drunk, again, and immediately pollutes a newly cleaned house. What a fucken princess.

Vacuuming sucks, apparently...

The bitch has broken my vacuum cleaner.

I cannot stand this anymore. I have been away all week, but before I left I said: "Do you reckon you can help me keep this place tidy? Maybe do some vacuuming?"

To which the reply was weary acquiescence. I am becominig resigned to the fact that there is a certain inevitability to life. Something bad is gonna happen. And whatever it does, I am never sure just how much of it is deliberate and malicious.

And when you couple a perfectly reasonable request to do some fucking housework with the fact that the instrument involved is now non-functional, it's operability sub-optimal, then it is very difficult to believe that the cause is simple incompetence.

Of course The Flatmate didn't deign to apologise or offer an explanation or compensation or anything of the sort. No, the remains of the machine are still there in the middle of the lounge room, gently smoking, humming with electricity. I have no idea what killed it, but I'm fucked if I'm shifting it.

Today's reason my flatmate pisses me off: In a fit of pique she destroys the vacuum cleaner in order to avoid ever having to ever vacuum anything ever again. And then leaves it in the fuckng lounge room!

P.S: Today I bought a brand new Dyson. Kill that if you can, bitch.