I am unable to confront people. I am such a nice person, that when someone does something that I don’t like, I rather don’t say anything than speak up. I am a choleric… what the heck… I quarrel a lot, I am not shy confronting my boyfriend or family, but god help if I should confront for example my flatmate or classmate. And the thing is, you have to say something to your flatmates if you want to live somewhat satisfied life at your own place…
But every time i want to confront someone, when I am angry as hell, I chicken out. And when I don’t, i look like a madman and not a strong confident woman fighting for her rights and opinions (if fighting my dumb flatmate for not taking down my wet laundry and crumpling it on a chair is a right). When I want to say something that is on my mind, my heart starts beating so fast that I think I’ll pass out or have a heart attack. And when I open my mouth I can’t talk at all… My voice is all hoarse and barely audible. I completely change my voice tone and I look like I am about to cry. And despite the fact that I have my whole script of what I’ll say ready in my head, I instantly forget everything and start babbling nonsense with barely no arguments….
Just imagine that… Someone is so angry that they even come to tell you and this scene I described comes up. It’s completely ridiculous. One time a classmate even apologised to me, that it wasn’t such a big deal and that I don’t have to cry about it… I felt so defeated. You are trying to fight for yourself and instead you look like a weak girly girl who cries about everything. That’s not the way to do it. That’s why I try to avoid these situations, but I can’t hide forever. I have to stick up for myself…
But until I find my stong side and confront anyone without looking like a fool, I have to find a new place, because that laundry thing sure did piss me off and now I look like a crazy b*tch that can’t keep it together. Peace
Having flatmates is like being in a toxic relationship. You don’t have the money to move out and live on your own, so they are the necessary evil in order for you to have a roof over your head. But every time they do something wrong you just hope that it was a one time thing. Every time you ask them to do or stop doing something and they simply don’t listen, you blame yourself and think that maybe you want too much from them. Every time you tidy the whole apartment so it’s clean at least once a month, only for them to come home that very evening and your hard work is gone within minutes, you just hope it’s going to get better…
But like in a toxic relationship, you can take only so much and blame yourself for only so long. I haven’t been in this game for so long… I had five flatmates for a year and the next year I moved in with only three, in both cases including my boyfriend. Most people would say that I am overreacting and hell, I think so too! But then I remember that I am the only one caring for the apartment, because I don’t want to live in a dump, I remember washing up those moldy pots, I remember the clogged kitchen sink that I have to clean up almost everyday, I remember the loud quarrels of couples that after hearing those I can’t even comprehend how are they still together, and most important I remember that fricking ukulele that is driving me completely nuts! I used to love ukulele… I wanted to learn to play ukulele…. and now? Now I want to throw that thing on the street, set it on fire and watch it get run over by a car.
And it’s not only my flatmates that are driving me crazy, oh no. Our landlord in the first apartment was a cool guy that couldn’t care less about anything, even us. But I suspect that our new landlady is some even worse creature than the devil himself and she’s so scary that people rather don’t even talk about her. The first day we moved in, we received an A4 paper that had rules written on it on both sides… The rules include what windows we can and can’t open and when, that we can’t roll the blinds all the way up, that we must wear home shoes, and much more. We can’t even control the heating in our rooms and we must take off and put on shoes outside of our apartment.
People would think that having flatmates is awesome. You have the TV series like Friends and New Girl, but let me tell you, it’s all lies!
My parents had never motivated me to find a job and I was never in a need of one. Sure I didn’t really have any money to spare, but I didn’t mind. As long as I was living under my mother’s roof, I had nothing to worry about and I didn’t really have any desire to spend money for things (ok maybe except books… but I always somehow managed to find money for books). I started my first part-time job only because all my other friends had already so much work experience and I felt pressured. You can also say, that my first part-time job was kind of an accident – I knew that my friend’s mom had her own business and just for fun I asked that friend, whether her mom was hiring… and to my surprise she actually was. So the next four summers I had been selling handmade corn husk decorations at a farmers market. It was not a bad job… I had been seeing my friend every day, nobody was really supervising me, and the salary was not that bad either. The downside was that you had to sit there for 6-12 hours bored to death in temperatures around 30°C (86°F) or in cold rains, you had no real access to the toilet and overall this work experience was not in my field of study. Lust summer I decided that I needed more. And I actually did – even though it was much more about the experience in translation than actually good money.
Why am I telling you all this? I moved house and I was so naive that I thought having only two flatmates would be better than four… I was wrong. I can’t stand it anymore, I want my own place with my boyfriend. To achieve that I need a job. While I was searching for some part-time jobs, my friend was constantly making fun of me to go and donate my eggs or blood or plasma. I was joking that I would sell my kidney. However to be completely honest, I’d rather sell my kidney than work in a fast food, tidy someone’s home or work in a warehouse. Those seem to be the only jobs available right now. Is it so bad to wish for some fulfilling job? I want to do something that I enjoy, not just because I am desperate for the money. I would be willing to promote teas on instagram for crying out loud, I am not that picky… or am I?