Not Quite Home

You'd think that I'd be tired of doing dishes almost every day of the week. In all truth, I honestly am. If I didn't hate the idea of everything in the apartment looking absolutely horrible and to the point that I look like a lazy fucking slob, I'd probably let the things sit in the sink until the roommates who haven't touched the dishwasher in over a MONTH AND A HALF did them. I can't do that though. I take one look at the sink and I feel horrible guilty for every single dish in there. I don't know why I feel this way, I just do.


I wish I had enough of a proverbial backbone to tell them to get off of their ends and do the blasted things, or to even tell them to take out the garbage. They've left garbage piled up since before the first weekend of December for us to take out, and since my one tolerable roommate left before they did fully expecting them to take out their own trash, I wound up being the one to take out their nasty garbage.


Now, I know that I'm not the most... motivated person on the face of the planet, but at least I know when to do dishes and take out the garbage. I know when to clean up after myself. Too bad not all college students have to learn this lesson before living in apartments.