I have decided that 2015 is the year I finally live by myself. Fuck this absolute shit, I am over sharing with housemates.
From day one I have ruled the roost at this flat, my friends, family and most importantly, my housemates know it. I’ve been in this lovely renovated house in Greenwich since September 2012 and it was a perfect spot to start off my London adventure. But now that I’m nearly three years into London, turning 31 and in my fourth job since starting it’s time to spoil myself.
You’d think it was the fact I’m still living with my ex boyfriend, but no, he’s the best of the lot! It’s the fact everyone ignores the rubbish bin even though it won’t close, or the sticky honey splodge on the kitchen bench, or the fact one of them broke one of my wine glasses but won’t admit to it, or the new guy who doesn’t put the toilet seat down and somehow manages to miss. These are 20-something, professionals! There’s no excuse to be so lazy and dirty. Sure, I’m no angel and will leave dishes sometimes – but I never disrupt anyone else’s daily living nor leave piss allover the toilet seat.
The final straw was today when our estate agent emailed to say they had a 5PM viewing for tonight (it’s a big house, five bedrooms), and would it bother anyone? I responded asking if they could make it later as no-one would be home. She told me they had to work within the viewee’s available time and theirs. I responded asking why she bothered to ask us if there was no room for change.
I’ve just started my new job, so I’m going to wait until post-probation and after I’ve received my first bonus before I move, approximately four months. Unfortunately a funky one bedroom place in London costs a tad more than I’m currently paying. But the peace and quiet, the ability to have friends and family stay whenever I like and the fact I can sit in my underwear and drink a bottle of wine completely sells me.
Of course I know I’m not special enough to be alone in this situation, I’m just fucking over it.