:: Closing Time ::

:: Sunday, September 15, 2002 ::

Fucking A. I wrote a great blog on the night of the 12th and it dissapeared. That's infuriating. Plus I'm already mad at the world

Sometimes I wish I had a single. Now is one of those times - I was going to blog about the debate competition I was at at Columbia, and how I hung out with Mykl cause he was there (although we didn't see Alexis) and that was really cool - not only to see somebody from home, but to be back in our element together in some sense of it. But again no long explaination because well, it's 4:20 in the morning, I'm half dead, and I'm pissed.

When I finally got back I find my room in totally fucked with. Two people, neither of whom live here, hooking up on Jake's bed. First thing I notice is my Easy Mac box has been ransacked. Insulting. Offensive. You don't eat my fucking food when I'm not here. Second thing I noticed, putting my easymac back in the drawer under the bed, is that the underbed has been searched. fucked with. -everything- is moved. under the bed I find a pair of thong sandles, like a size 12 or something, that I don't recognize. I have confiscated them in the hopes that the offending cumqueen will reveal him or herself. What's more, my books are all in dissarray - my italian workbook, a fucking $37 piece of paper that they just ignore, was bent in half and generally crammed in some odd space. It probably won't sit flat anymore, and I probably won't be able to sell it because of the people under my bed.

There are other little things - my bed, for one, has been remade backwards. To be honest I was considering doing it myself but had decided against it, and I appreciate why it was made at all - KT said they'd all been sitting on it and such and it got all messed up, so she decided to make it. Nice of her, well intended - still the kind of thing that's offsetting. There is a tostitos bag on my bed. If there are crumbs in my sheets, somebody will die.

I have one and only one good hanger - a wooden suit hanger from Macy's, that came with my good suit. I use it to, believe it or not, hang my good suit. which I took with me to debate. I come back and the hanger has been broken off the hook. This is a sturdy piece of hardware, which means some fucking asshole hit something with it or something. it was stuffed behind the door, like I might not notice.

kevin/kt just spilled water all over the floor. kt said she was going to clean it up and then didn't. I'm sure somethng came up - she's good about dealing with her shit. but it's just another thing I had to do when I got back already half dead.

about people in my stuff - I'm pretty certain it's - not- my roomates. They've been cool, and extremely respectful. But they're the only one with keys, and I havne't seen anybody leaving the room unlocked - they're not stupid.

What that means is that people who are here with them with permission are going through my stuff - and they're just not noticing it, or letting it happen, or not caring. This is almost as bad as if they were doing it themselves. I have to talk to them. tomorrow. when they're awake. I can't live in a place where I don't have personal posessions. where I don't have the right to my own space.

Hell hath fallen, and it is all around me.
:: Peter 4:31 AM [+] ::
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