I'm sick of living like a monk. I'm sick of sharing a bathroom with someone who leaves gobs of everything on floors, mirrors and taps (I keep on hoping it's not sperm). I'm sick of my neighbour's horrible, listless soft rock. I'm sick of the place smelling like a chemical plant whenever someone's cooking something vegetarian. I'm sick of not being able to have a proper private conversation or sex without the whole house hearing everything. I'm sick of my street, so full of intolerant headscarf and burqa worshippers no gay boy wants to come visit. Don't blame them.
I need my own place. Own kitchenette, shower and toilet, and I'll be happy. I would have room for a double bed, and maybe have a proper sitting area for once in my life. Preferably closer to the action, because, hey, you only live once. Above all, I need my own place because then, and only then, can I do whatever the fuck I want to, when I want to. Without having to suffer straight first-years and their awful granny rock or socially immature guys who can't deal with hair products and tooth paste.
So I'm giving a guy I know a call on Monday. He rents out apartments and student rooms throughout town, and he knows me and has set me up before. He knows I'm not very noisy (thank you Apple!) and that I'm clean, responsible and pay promptly. I hope he will be able to find something for me.
I'm just too old for this crap.