Early Morning Grumble

Technically it's last thing at night for me. It's quarter past five in the morning here in merry old England, and I'm just settling down to go to bed. Slipping back into nocturnal living is not a good idea three days before a 9.30 am exam. Stupid body.

Anyway, that isn't quite what I came on to blog about. A while ago I posted about my frustrations living in a shared house. Here are some more. I just went to the bathroom, to do the things a person does before going to bed. The bath was full of cold used bathwater (my room is next to the bathroom and I know no one has been in there since at least 11 last night), there are a pair of panties on the floor in the middle of the room, and... the toothpaste. Urgh, the toothpaste.

You know that spray that covers the sink and surrounding tiles when someone vigorous is brushing their teeth and spitting out residue? It is generally considered decent to rinse this spray off once you've finished. I do. I don't scrub the sink with bleach everytime I brush my teeth, but I do rinse the sink out and clear off any spray I can spot. Apparently, someone else in this house can't. Every so often I'll go into the bathroom and the green sink will be a spotty white sink. Like tonight/this morning. Everywhere! It's not pleasant.

The phantom kitchen-cupboard door opener has been at it again. As has someone who put their washing up in the sink, filled the bowl and left it. For two days. When I went to wash my dishes the other day I had to take the stuff out of the bowl and it'd been there so long it was all starting to smell. Something else that wasn't pleasant.

On top of that, things are a little wierd with myself and NW. Last weekend he went off to a wedding and asked if I could look after his dog. Feed, water, let her out into the yard to her business, etc. I've done it before. I love said dog to bits and will quite happily look after her forever. I looked after her for a few weeks when NW went to America over Easter, and I looked after her the weekend before last when he was at the stag party. I looked after her fine last weekend.

Sunday morning I went off to meet GKL and friends to go shopping in town. Came home in the afternoon to a VERY irate NW. The dog had a plaster on her face, and I asked what she'd done to her face. "That's what I wanted to know," NW said. At the time it felt like he snarled, but with hindsight I'm not entirely sure. He was definitely not happy. Ebby had cut her face somehow, scraping off some fur in the process. It wasn't a huge wound, but any wound is bad enough on a dog who's your entire life. Also, while I was out she'd managed to leave little brown parcels all over the landing, and a nice little puddle on the bathroom carpet. Neither the wound or the presents were there when I left to go shopping. I'm not completely irresponsible. But still NW was not happy. He told me, as he took her off to the vet to get checked out, that I'd let her down. By her, he meant the dog. I'd let Ebby down. I felt horrible.

I spent the next hour crying and feeling horrible. The vet gave Ebby a clean bill of health, but I still felt responsible and guilty and horrendous. My worry, guilt and panic complexes have enough ammunition as it is. And I saw a side of NW I'd never seen before. He's always been jolly and friendly and happy. Except for his occasional slump, but then he only hides in his room. I've never seen him so angry.

I've avoided him since. Stayed in my room or at the library as much as possible. May be part of the reason for the nocturnal thing as well. I've seen him once, when he popped up to tell me the money for the bills were due. It was awkward. I couldn't really look at him.

Housesharing is a pain in the sodding ass.

Oh, and just to make my life even more wonderful. This weekend is the second of three weekends I had left with N after our week together and before I leave for four months. Last weekend he had an episode and couldn't come down. I've been looking forward to this weekend all week, we both have. I was so excited. I went to bed last night (well, early this morning) excited that I'd wake up and see him within a few hours. Then I wake up this afternoon to a text telling me he can't come down. I was worried at first. I thought something horrible had happened. Turns out he "wasn't in the mood." What that means is that his depression kicked in. His doctor has him on two tablets instead of the four he was on when he got better. He needs to be on at least three damnit! Now our second weekend has been taken away and he, cos of the episode, doesn't care. If he doesn't come down next weekend I don't know what I'll do.

I'm not a religious person, but since this afternoon I've been praying (in between crying jags, binge eating, staring at my blades and telling myself I don't want to cut, and stabbing the crap out of balls of yarn) that I don't have to go away without seeing him again. Four months is a bloody long time. 4000 miles is a bloody long way. I don't want to not see him before I go. I really really don't.