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Some days, it just gets too much

Living at home. Fuck. Still living at home, wtill in a shit job, still rotting my life away with no friends and nobody but morons in the flesh. Nyargh.

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.

No 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.


( 5 informants — We want information! )
Apr. 18th, 2004 11:49 am (UTC)
I can relate. And few things piss me off more than the implication that I am either a liar or mentally incompetent, which is how I tend to take the "(X) is gone? Really? Are you ~sure~?" followed by the search for said item. Either I'm a thining creature worthy of trust or I'm not...and if not, why the fuck do you still have me near you. I'm also very territorial concerning my personal belongings. I'n not certain this is an option in your case, particularly with your coffee, but perhaps you could get a small fireproof safe? Stuff it in your room somewhere and keep whatever you can fit inside that's truly important. It's a thought, anyway, and the best one I have to offer. Particularly since I'm certain you're already either saving or trying to start saving to move out, and you've probably passworded your computer as much as possible. For the stress relief I recommend continued venting in the form of rants. This is, however, not entirely altruistic--your rants tend to be highly entertaining to read in my opinion.
Apr. 18th, 2004 12:31 pm (UTC)
I'm still looking for flatmates for next year at uni, you know :P
Apr. 18th, 2004 02:52 pm (UTC)
I can relate. I left the house and my parents gave my car away. Go get the chain. You need to learn them now before they get worse.
Apr. 18th, 2004 08:52 pm (UTC)
The biggest department I can relate in is sweets. If I buy a box of, say, danishes, and make the dreadful mistake of leaving it on the table, even if there is only one left, my dad will walk in, take it, eat it, and all without a single word, and all right in front of everyone. Apparently, if it's on *his* table, he gets free dibs.
Apr. 21st, 2004 01:26 am (UTC)
Wrong fucking country, friend. If you could cross the pond, I'm driving distance from your lady.
( 5 informants — We want information! )



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