vague mystique.

My house resembles the aftermath of a year long war. Clothes, plastic cups, empty bottles of alcohol, random pieces of clothing from unknown people, mismatched socks, and remnants of food from days ago are strewn everywhere in the living room. Thrown across couches and chairs are blankets, quilts, and a thousand pillows. Propped up against the wall is the largest air mattress known to man, and believe me, the room smells like dead corpses and pot.

My room, which is a usually immaculately clean, is a disaster zone. My bed is unmade, old clothes are laying in various places around me, and there’s a bunch of plastic cups and empty water bottles laying around the computer desk from nights spent in here in isolation, away from Serena’s friends that wander day and night. It’s also quite cold, but that’s probably because my window is open all the time to suck out the smell of marijuana that drifts in from Serena’s room.

My faithful, lovely readers, you may be wondering right now why my usually obsessively clean house is in shambles right now. It’s because my single parent has le ft the state, without me and Serena, to visit family in Florida, actually. She left us last Saturday, left with a simple set of instructions: feed animals, take dog out periodically, buy food that Rosalie can’t set fire to when the fridge becomes empty, and clean the house as if you were an OCD maid getting paid more money than you’ve ever dreamed of. Simple, right? Easy to follow, right? Right.

Wait… this is making little sense. If you know what to do, and understand what to do, then, um, why aren’t you doing it?

Laziness. Pure unadulterated laziness. At least, that’s why Serena isn’t doing anything. When it comes to me, I am doing little simple because I have los t hope in my efforts. I tried, I really did, but Serena has been throwing parties almost every night. People come over during the day, at night, sleep over… and then get drunk and high, and ohmywinifred, it is impossible to stay ahead of the game. Every time I clean something, it becomes dirty again before I even turn around. I’m starting to think the house has it out for me.

I am doing some things, though. Feeding the animals. Taking the dog out periodically. Scooping the litter box. Sometimes, if it gets really really disgusting, I even sweep and mop the floor. That’s it however. The living room, bathroom, Serena’s room, my room, the overflowing laundry bin… it can all go screw itself. I am not responsible for everything. Serena should be doing something every once and a while, or even, you know, the people that apparently LIVE HERE now. It’s only fair.

….Serena just came into my room while I was writing that last paragraph. At four o’ clock in the afternoon, she has just woken up from being awake all night. She looks like bloody Hell. Her hair is all messed up, there are bags under her eyes (Not so purple now that she’s gotten some shut eye), and she’s wearing her bumming clothes. Her boyfriend, C, is in the room with her, having been sleeping with her all day also. …Sleeping with her. Hm. I hope it was just sleeping.

The conversation was pretty dry, and went something like this:

Serena: Oh my Goooood…. [Lays down on my bed]
Me: You’re awake now?
Serena: Yeah. What do you want for dinner?
Me: I don’t know. What do you want?
Serena: I don’t know.

Silence.

Me: We could go to John Smith’s. [The local diner]. I haven’t been there in a while. They’re cheap, and the food’s good.
Serena: [groan, roll over] We’re getting take out either way.

Silence.

Me: Are we going food shopping today?
Serena: Uggghh, I don’t know.
Me: The kitchen is completely empty. I need something to bring for lunch this week for school.
Serena: [sigh]
Me: I need my fifteen dollars for swimming tomorrow, too.
Serena: UGH.
Me: Sorry.


If you haven’t guessed, we’re out of food. The kitchen is empty, and surpriseeeee, one of my sister’s friends stole the last bit of food money a few nights ago. He’s in jail now, though- crashed his friends car. I’m kind of glad. He’s good looking and all, but is naturally intimidating. I thought he was going to hit me when I spilled beer on his jacket the other night… (He tried to feed alcohol to one of my cats. I freaked out and poured his cup of beer on him).

I’m not that hungry, though. I am one of those people that can go a while without eating, and I did have breakfast. I would make a very good anorexic if I wanted to become one. Perhaps after swim season, when I am not forced to eat a sufficient amount of carbohydrates everyday.

Anyway, though, back to the point of this blog: I am tired of living like this. I don’t mind Serena throwing parties, and I don’t mind having people constantly blowing in and out of the place because her guy friends are absolutely gorgeous and when else do I get a chance to dress so slutty and flirt with older guys? I just mind the state of the house, the mess, the smell. We need a housekeeper.

We need our parent to come back. The bitter truth: You don't know how useful someone is until you don't have them around anymore.