Why do parents have no fucking sense of property? If a thing is mine, what ki8nd of retard-only synapse fires in their brain that makes them consider it their property? This has been going on since I got back. Good shampoo, which I buy because I love my hair and the bargain-basement crap that they get in bulk is barely better than washing my locks in raw sewage. But of course, they see that I have better shit, and everyone uses it. I pay fucking board, I contribute to the bulk crap we get for this nebulous concept of "family use". I do not then go out and spend more of my money on things so that the family can add them to that pool and waste them.
Worse is the case of my coffee. My beautiful, beautiful coffee. Hot laval Javan, enough of a caffeine kick to wake a dead mule and have it stripping down and cleaning tanks for a week straight before it got slightly tired. Amazing shit. I've not felt the pull of the beans in a couple of months, so just nohw I go get the filter machine, fill the reservoir, and go hunting for the grounds.
My parents require independant verification of this. I have to explain that I have looked to both of them individually (and both of them ignore me), then endure being treat me like some kind of mental patient until they make that simple comment that makes anyone want to get a loop of big, heavy vchain, wrap it around a neck and just fucking pull. "That's interesting. Maybe you used it all?"
No, you worthless shit-raping donkey eaters I did not. I haven't touched the stuff for at least two months. There was half a bag, tightly sealed. "I wonder where that could have gone." Maybe you threw it out because even though it belongs to me that doesn't fucking matter, you don't give a shit about anything I could own and honestly think it's okay to throw my fucking coffee away so you can store more of the weak dog piss you mistakenly think is "coffee".
I am fucking sick of this. If there were a hope of me affording a p[lace of my own I would be out of here faster than light.