Title: Come hear Marcie bitch and moan!
Music du jour: Clerks soundtrack
Dammit, the next cat I hear skidding across the floor and crashing into the other cat, causing the other cat to yowl and hiss, I'm going to kill. I know that sentence had bad structure; shut up. Every living creature in my house was conspiring to keep us awake last night, to the point where Ian bitched about the alarm clock going off this morning because, "I just want to get some sleep! Why do I have to get woken up every twenty minutes!" I was digging on his pain, but I was the one who had to get up and go to work at 8 AM; Mr. Happy is still blissfully snoring away. Last night the damn animals were taking turns waking us up. If the dogs weren't suddenly seized with fits of insane barking, causing Ian to curse violently and go outside to turn the hose on them, the cats were starting World War III in the living room. Not that they confined it to the living room; oh, no. They raged up to the kitchen, back through the living room, down the hall to the bathroom, back out and straight into the bedroom, where I was JUST GETTING OFF TO SLEEP when I was jolted awake by the hissing, scratching and yowling going on UNDERNEATH MY BED. Henceforth I am going to throw all the cats out in the garage and close my door if they don't behave. Ian actually shoved Spot (one of Steve's cats -- she's a little whore) out the door and caused her to slam against the wall in the hallway rather hard. I suppose that's a bad thing, but the little shit deserved it, really she did.
God. We have too many animals, we really do. Currently each roommate has two cats, for a grand total of six. SIX CATS. And two 80-pound dogs in the back yard. And a python (Steve's, again). And I still have no art room. Remember all my bullshit about how I was going to get back into art and get some place to draw and paint and shit like that? Remember my non-negotiable art room? Forget about it... it'll never happen in this lifetime. Oh, but Joy, you say, there's always the garage. Yes, that would be lovely, wouldn't it? If, in fact, the garage wasn't packed to the rafters with everyone's shit that they couldn't fit in their rooms. I have nothing against any of my roommates (well, except that they don't wash the dishes), but God, we need to get a storage room or something and throw everyone's extra shit in there. This is getting to the point where it's pissing me off. I have no space of my own except for my desk, which is tucked up in a corner of the living room, and thank God for it. I need a damn spare room of any sort, just to escape to when it gets too crazy at my house. Fuck, man.
I swear to y'all... give me six months and I'll either be crazy or keeping an apartment somewhere that nobody knows about but me. All I want is some space. I always thought I could live anywhere with anyone, but I'm getting old or something. I'm tired of the commune.
-- marcie.