dirty coffee edited
Low-key/high-key practising my Michelle Obama side-eye

‘I’m just going to ask him not to come. Like not ask, I’m going to tell him…he invited himself, like the fuck was I supposed to say?’ 

‘I mean if you don’t ask you don’t get.’

‘I feel like, in this situation, if I ask then all I’m going to get is animosity.’

Autumn and I are fairly reasonable people to live with. She is easily excitable, and I am the physical embodiment of Eeyore. We have our morning routine down to a T and always make the effort to appreciate random people in good outfits. Reasonable.   

However, that sense of reasonability may begin to waver when a psychopath moves in next door and everyone in our periphery has been sleep-deprived since March (when said psychopath moved in). Sleep deprivation can result in receiving a glacier reception from even the most reasonable people.

My irritability is under perfectly logical premises: he doesn’t sleep at universally designated sleeping times; so now no one sleeps at designated sleeping times. In conclusion, my internal clock is currently being controlled by a moron.

Also, I have been planning a graduation meal since February. We are graduating in July; that’s five months of planning! Every time I see The Male and the unnecessary sleep deprivation he has orchestrated, I’m reminded of how since he moved in my quality of life has been dramatically declining.

I refer to him fondly as a psychopath because he coincides with a few psychotic tendencies and according to BuzzFeed, there are three different types of psychopaths. First, the below average psychopath; then the average psychopath and finally the high psychopath. A key attribute of being a high psychopath is not being able to empathise with other people; victimising themselves in a situation where they are at fault and also, possibly not being able to recycle.

Allow me to explain: Autumn and I bumped into our friend in the corridor the other day. It was 4pm and we were coming home- so he was probably starting his day. There we were chatting to him, casually dropping hints about recycling-why we do it? How we do it?—and then out of nowhere, he invited himself to our party? Like no? You are the reason I could potentially live the rest of my life with a 2:2, no you cannot come to my graduation celebration. No one asked him; no one likes him; no one even knows his last name. The only thing I know about him is that he doesn’t know how to recycle but does know how to like posts from the WWF about saving the whales on Facebook. I know this because he never separates his plastic and rubbish and he doesn’t know that you can’t recycle cardboard in the paper recycling bin so the bin men never take his shit and it ends up piling outside mine and Autumn’s door and who eats a packet of quavers just before bed, like Jesus drink milk and go to sleep like a normal person you nocturnal asshole. Or it means we have to evacuate our flat and seek refuge with Sam and simply look past the rat infestation taking place in his flat. Seriously, like we were here first.

Read Next;

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