I need to stop eating before I become a dead, bloated cow on the side of the road awaiting a dead-cow pick-up truck to take me to the pie factory. Seriously, this is how desperate the situation is becoming. I made home-made chicken kiev with roasted italian potatos and a mountain of peas, corn and carrots. Fuck yeah. And Felix won't even clean up the kitchen. Are you kidding me? Never, EVER cooking for him EVER again. From now on, it's all ME baby. I'll clean up after MYSELF.
But if I do that then I'll prolly have to sleep in a different room. There's all sorts of crap all over the floor in here, as our bedroom doubles as our lounge. Turning my head to the left I see 3 bags of rubbish (THANK YOU GABRIELLA for putting the rubbish INTO bags, a routine I am YET to grasp). To my right there's not too much; the heater, a powerboard (which switches off when there's too much plugged into it, nice work designers. A powerboard which can only take as much as a double adapter. Real good design.) 2 dirty bowls with old corn dogs in them. An almost-empty juice bottle. I suppose that is kind of shitty, considering how normal people's houses look like.
Felixesses friend is coming to stay next week. No, he's not from out of town, he just hates his family right now. I think it's because his mother doesn't cook for him? Okay, big boy. Cook for your God damn self. If you're going to leech off your parents for this long, then why not cook for them or something? I couldn't even imagine leeching off my parents for so long. I was planning on moving out ever since I was 15. I couldn't wait.
Even though now we're living in Felixes Mum's house... At least no one else is. And we're buying our own food... N shit.
Shut up. I can't wait to live in Melbourne, with my beautiful house and helpful boy friend to keep it clean. Me, with my feet up on my beautiful coffee table watching Greys Anatomy on my beautiful flat-screen TV.
*Sigh* I'm allowed to dream.
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