Trying really hard not to strangle my flatmate. Bought a new suite, paid to get it delivered, the old one was basically an office settee, like sitting on a pile of bricks. The delivery guys brought it up to the landing. I asked the flatmate to help me move the old one out. Wouldn’t do it. Said i didn’t ask him about changing it so he shouldn’t have to help. Then said he’s not a labourer and was too busy.
Won’t give me access to the garage. It’s seperate to the flat and packed with old furniture. He doesn’t contribute to the cost, but to save him lumping his bike upstairs i gave him the key. Asked to borrow it for an hour, wouldn’t have it. Explained it was the only key and just got a “well, that’s your fault”.
I get text messages if there’s more than one toilet roll on the go. He pulled me up because when i’d cleaned the bathroom i’d moved his shower gel slightly. He rang me at work saying he couldn’t use the sink because there was something in it. I asked him how many legs it had. When i got home a bottle of Flash had fell in, which apparently made me a fascist.
I fucking don’t know. I’m really, really wary of dynamics with long-term and short-term flatmates quite often being weird (and largely down to the former), and also that he might have some issues, so try really hard to give him as much space as possible, but the constant logical gymnastics are causing me massive stress.
Sorry for the strange post basically listing extremely mundane shit, but it’s kind of cathartic to get it out.
