Furniture.

People keep moving furniture.

It’s making me crazy.

If I would have written this post this morning, it would have been more contemplative and sad. Right now, I’m just annoyed.

The contemplative part of me is too sentimental. In the first place, rearranging furniture pulls something inside of me, as if corners of my heart were attached to it. And bringing in new furniture and rearranging everything else to make it fit… it’s odd. And I’ve never been good at change. I used to fight it. Now… Now I just sort of accept it with some sort of disbelief, knowing that all I can do is watch it get dragged across the room, unable to stop it’s movement. Knowing it’s not my place any longer to have a say. There’s even guilt when I like the new furniture, as if it takes away love or loyalty that I had to the older furniture. I know it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. But I do like the new stuff and it was needed and the whole room is better for it. But it’s different. And now I couldn’t walk through the room blindfolded without stubbing my toes.

If only the first place was really about furniture.

The annoyed part of me?

In the second place, no one asked if they could move the furniture! No one even told me it was happening. And they don’t even take care of the house. It’s a pigs sty. The more I think about it, the more I get pissed off. They aren’t the only ones who live here. I have to wade through their filth daily and I’m so freaking sick of it. It’s so pathetic. Honest to goodness, I don’t understand how people could live like this and not give a crap about how their home is. Worse yet, not give a crap for the other people living with them. It’s disrespectful and rude. And I don’t know what to do about that. I don’t know how to fix it. But I’m honestly so mad. This is one of those times I REALLY wish I didn’t have a filter so I could tell them off. Maybe I should get drunk. That could help. But I’ve never been drunk so maybe I would just get quiet and sulky. I don’t know how that would be any different than now so I guess it couldn’t hurt to try it.

That part is really about furniture. I can handle messy roommates, but I can’t handle filthy roommates. And they moved the freaking furniture while I wasn’t home and I’m trying to deal with coping the movement of the metaphorical furniture so, honestly, not a good day to change things. Freaking imbeciles. I just want to punch their parents in the face for spoiling them rotten and never teaching them what the word “clean” means. Then I want to punch them in the face for not learning how to take care of themselves because they are old enough to know better by now.

I need to live by myself. I don’t know whether to scream at them or get so painfully passive aggressive that they begin to hate me. Either would be good at this point.

If everyone could just stop moving things, that’d be great.

-Melissa

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