Home Alone- No Thanks

Living with other people can be a pain sometimes, but living on your own is pretty miserable.
We all sleep better knowing there's someone nearby, even if not in the same room.

Myself, I freely admit, I don't like being accountable to anyone. I do what I want, when I want.
But living on my own?
Not for me.

Living with other males, is a recipe for a general trend towards squalour and excess.
Living with a woman, creates a balanced existence.
I don't think women live well together either.

Problem is when the woman you live with, is also your girlfriend. There's just something about the sleeping together thing that makes living together hell.

So I live the perfect solution.
I have a female flatmate and there's never been anything sexual between us.

We got to know eachother intially because I WAS trying to bed her at that point, but something deeper and more important emerged.
A real friendship.
We didn't end up in bed, but we cried on eachother's shoulders.
We both had things to cry about.

And we ended up getting a flat together. We realised it would work.
And it does.
It's in my name, but she gives me slightly less than half the costs. I don't expect half, I have the advantage of having the place furnished to my liking, can decide what goes on the stereo and the TV. I earn slightly more as well, so it's only fair I put in more.

Fact is, I prefer company. I don't like being on my own for much over an hour. I get a bit nervy. I need someone to talk to.
I can only do solitude with the aid of the stereo.

I HATE Home alone.

She's the only person I've lived with, who hasn't had me yearning for some space.
She looks after me as well.
I never have the eternal laundry crises that seem to be a perpetual feature of males sans females.
She'll also tell me if I probably shouldn't do something.
She also puts up with a lot.
You have to be fairly broadminded to be in our living room at weekends.

She takes it all in her stride.

It's the little things as well, that shows she knows me.
Like this conversation, which took place on Sunday.

ME: I bought some fags earlier at Spar, you haven't seen them, have you?
HER: Did you buy anything else?
ME: Sausages, Eggs.
Her: did you put them in the fridge?
ME: Already checked.

Still no idea where they went.

She means a lot to me. Like a kind of sister.
And we don't even bicker about the bathroom!




So I was a little upset to come home and find her in tears yesterday.
She works for a pair of utter charlatans. Worse, their mentality towards women is fairly adolescent.
They think ringing her extension and asking her if she is in to back door action is amusing.
Not all day long it isn't.

The power of the payer.
Some abuse it.
These two scumbags make a good living out of a fairly dishonest, but just about legal operation and by exploiting their staff to a completely appalling degree.




But she daren't leave. She needs the money.
I took her out to calm her down a bit, hence the lack of blog visiting last night, I had already arranged to meet someone else later.

I'm quite angry with how people like this sleep at night.
She's looking for something else quick, she just can't take any more of it.
I admitted to her, I should have noticed weeks ago she was upset, but we haven't had too much of a chance to talk of late.

I did feel guilty, as if I'd not been there for her when she needed me. I haven't been.
I wish the Beatles were right, and we did have eight days a week. Then we'd have time. As long as the extra day wasn't another work day.

So over the bank holiday weekend, a little research in to possible job opportunities for my flatmate may be an idea.

I'll look after her while she's around.
I'll miss her when she goes.
As one day she will.