"Oh... That wasn't me."

I cleaned up bigtime today. The Flatmate came home, smoking a cigarette and coughing. She's got the flu apparently, and hasn't been to work for three days. Fuckall wrong with her that I could see.

The enquiry about the amount of unwashed dishes in the sink was brushed off effortlessly. The discussion about the broken vacuum cleaner was brief. Then I asked her about leavnig the washing machine on.

"Oh... That wasn't me."

In the immortal words of Aristotle: "What the FUCK?"

She was the only person in The Habitat for the last four days!

o_O

... or was she...?

Incredible. All that in one day.

1. The fridge. Oh my god, the corruption.
2. The bathroom. Oh my god, the putrescence.
3. My DVD player is broken. FUCK, HOW!?

OFF!!! Turn it OFF!!!

I crept into The Habitat last night after being away all week, hoping to see all her shit gone and a note with some rent money pinned to it on the freshly cleaned kitchen bench.

Bah. Was it not Martin Luther King Jr who uttered those immortal words: "We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope"? What was I thinking?

I immediately noticed that The Flatmate had left the brand new washing machine switched on. I hate that. There is an off position. When you have finished you turn it off. That is what you do.

Furthermore you do not leave it on and leave The Habitat and go god knows where for days. No. That is not what you do.

Today, I hate my flatmate for not switching off a very expensive brand new washine machine, which I bought so that there would be less of an excuse to trip over piles of her fucking clothes when I get home, because "oh... That old machine will simply ruin my DKNY undies..."

An unexplained absence...

I have not seen or heard The Flatmate in days now. I still hate her. She will bring catastrophe back with her, of that I am sure. And poor Spathy is still wounded and limp.

It is quiet.

Too quiet.