Pettiness

Before I get onto my main subject in a different post for the day, I just need to say this.

As a kid and a teenager, and even a student, I was a pretty messy bod. When living with my ex, I was much the same. When we broke up, I briefly lived with my parents, and was also a slob. But when I got m own quarters again in a shared flat, something changed. I was entirely responsible for my own space, and I like to keep it tidy. Bit of a shock to most people who've known me a long time, but I'm now a bit of a neat freak.

I also like the kitchen to be tidy, but I hate rotas. I prefer a system where you just do it when you figure it's your turn. Things don't usually get bad as the system functions well, seeing as if you haven't done the washing up in a while, you can instead mop the floor, hoover, clean the bathroom etc. Everyone's balanced and happy. Personally, I hate hoovering. But I find cleaning bathrooms oddly satisfactory. All is well. Usually.

I love my flatmates to bits. But lately one has been a bit down and quite ill, and is living off of sausages and chips. Fair enough. But sheesh, just the words 'I'm really sorry I haven't done much lately, when I'm feeling better I'll muck right in' would fix everything. But every single kitchen and dining has been used. It's a huge pile I've just come back to. I did the washing up twice on Wednesday. I even cracked and mopped the kitchen floor, something said housemate has been swearing blind he'd do for a fortnight. And I can't see myself making lunch when there's no plates, pans, cutlery or anything. So I'm back to doing the washing up, again. Or else I can't physically EAT.

I feel like a right bitch, but christ, this has started getting to me.