Moving

I am moving. Again. Fifth time in two years. You would think I get some kind of bizarre pleasure from the experience. But, no.

This time I am moving ostensibly to be closer to my "new" job and to cut my commute time in half. And to be rid of my inconsiderate housemates. I have had many housemates over the years. Quite frankly, we are all inconsiderate some of the time, myself included. But I have been able to work things out with most. This time, I am just tired of the whole dang housemate thing. Maybe I am getting too old and crochety to live with other people. At least, without getting pissed off. And without the occasional accompanying yelling and screaming, on my part and/or theirs.

I am tired of the kitchen looking like a WWII battlefield. I am tired of the bin of Christmas decorations that still graces our back porch and several cardboard boxes of junk that have been sitting on the porch dining table for just about as long. I am tired of coming outside to smashed flowers after someone threw a heavy duty hose on top of my delicate flowers. I am tired of tripping over gym bags in the front hall and garbage waiting to be taken out in the back hall. I am tired of the pile of gravel that has been sitting in the driveway for months. I could go on, but you get my drift...

Mostly, I am tired of housemates who treat you like you are some kind of intruder into their space when both of our names are on the rental agreement. Someone who rearranges the shared space furniture in my absence. Someone who screams at me for parking in the driveway. You might have been here first, but that does not give you the right to make all the rules. Or, in my opinion, it should not give you the right.

Good luck with the next housemate, DonnaLou. I think you are going to need it.