A Small Rant

I left home at sixteen, and have been living alone ever since. For a long time I was in a YWCA in Southampton, and I was in the YMCA in Stoke for 9 months. There were a zillion people in the buildings with me, and I shared a kitchen in Southampton. Those were not good times. But I've had four homes of my own.

At some point last year, I realised that despite the loving company of my adorable (and much missed) pussy cat, Gadget, living alone was not helping my depression. I would have a wonderful day at university and socialising with my friends, and within minutes of coming home my depression would kick in. I decided to move into a shared home. I ended up here in Hartshill in an absolutely beautiful house. It's a huge, gorgeous house in a perfect location and I love it. I have three housemates currently. The final room has been promised to GKL's boyfriend for the next uni year. Having housemates helps. I don't overly socialise with them. I will stop and have a chat with NW and I'll say hi to JL even though I don't particularly like him. I do spend a lot of time alone in my room, but having the people around helps my depression. I don't come home to an empty house every day.

However...

Recently my loner desires have been making a comeback. Certain aspects of living in a shared house are driving me nuts. My current five-year plan involves graduating and then moving to Preston to be with N, and I really can't afford to move another two times in two years. I've already moved twice in the last 16 months. If it wasn't for N though, I swear to all my dear readers that I would move out of this place as soon as I got back from America in the new year.

Last night I came home from a week at N's house, and found my house empty. Two of the kitchen cupboard doors were open, the bathroom light was on, my private toilet paper stash (DO NOT get me started on the toilet paper wars) that I kept in my room had been raided. Someone had been into my room and taken my belongings! Ok, it was only toilet roll, but that isn't really the point.

About an hour ago I went downstairs to get some dinner and feed the dog while NW is away at a stag party. The back door was wide open, even though no one is the house apart from me. Whoever opened it didn't check that I was in before they left the house leaving the back door wide open. I put a pie in the microwave, and opened my cupboard to grab some baked beans to serve with it. No beans. Someone has been eating my food. The kitchen is also a mess.

Anyone who knows me knows that I am not exactly a neat and tidy person. When I had my own homes they were definitely cluttered, but there is a big difference to living amongst one's own clutter, and coming home to make one's dinner amongst other people's mess.

A few bullet points.

- I hate going to reach for a fork and finding not only the drawer empty, but there being none on the draining board or even waiting to be washed because people take them to their room and don't bring them back.

- I hate entering the kitchen to find one of my bowls (which I keep in MY cupboard) sat by the sink waiting to be washed after someone else has taken it out of my cupboard to use it.

- I hate going to do the washing up and finding no clean sponges, but twelve gross and black sponges to do the washing up with.

- I hate checking the post pile by the front door and finding other people's mail that they haven't collected because it's obviously junk. IF YOU DON'T WANT IT, BIN IT!

- Even worse than that, I hate that people open their post and then put it back on the bloody pile! Or leave it laying around. Why can't they at least take it to their rooms?

- I hate people who leave the bathroom light on (or any lights on) with the fan still going.

- I hate people who put notes up in the kitchen asking for baking trays not to be left on the hob, and then tell ME off for continuing to do it, even though I don't use the sodding baking trays. I don't care who keeps doing it, but I do NOT like being blamed for things I haven't done.

- I hate that people enter my room, and my cupboard, and use my things without my permission.

There are many, many, MANY more things I hate about living in a shared house. Of course, this is the only shared house I've lived in (aside from a one-month stint in a shared house in Basingstoke). Perhaps other houses have more rules, and more common decency for housemates, I don't know. But I do know that I miss living alone.

At least when I live with N I'll be able to talk to him, and we can settle our own ways of working together. Here, if I bring up any issues, I get huffed off, or ignored, or lectured for not being a good housemate myself.

If I fail my history resit, and get sent home from America, I'm not going to have the enthusiasm or even much desire to finish my degree. It's highly likely that I'll just give up and move straight to Preston. As it is, if things continue as they are here or get any worse, it's highly likely that I'll be moving in January anyway. It doesn't matter if I can afford it or not, when has finances ever stopped me doing anything?