I hear you. Every fucking night you decide to have a huge party with uninvited drunken guests you hardly know I hear you. Why? Because I have the shittiest room in the whole flat: Crammed in between the living room and the room next door, window facing the main street and door facing the hallway and the main door. Every time somebody decides to make noise I hear it. I hear it even in his thoughts, in the millisecond before the actual noise reaches me. I hear your stupid drinking games, your stupid attempts to land a girl and even your stupid attempts to entertain people while sending me to wild rage whenever I hear your huge clumsy hands hammering on the keyboard of my piano, sending those fine strings and me to despair. I hear every single word you speak, every single move you make, every single laugh. But why would I even care, you think. Well maybe, oh fellow student-friend, maybe there are people in this flat who actually have to EARN their living, that have to work on Saturdays and Sundays and have to wake up at six am during weekdays. No, my student friend, life is not a party. You are four years older than me and you still didn’t realise? You are so naive it almost makes me want to pity you. But know that, oh flatmate, oh distant friend, colleague, stranger, drug dealer or whatever you may be: Every time I have to stand up from my finally warmed up bed to go out of my room, go into the living room and face a dozen or more drunk faces staring at me, every time I have to tell you to PLEASE be a bit quieter because I have to wake up again in five hours and I would much appreciate it if I got some sleep before that, yes, EVERY SINGLE TIME the level of your voice makes me come out of bed once more, let me tell you, it makes me hate you just that little bit more.
My fellow readers, this is not just a flatmate rant. It’s about all of you fucking idiots who can’t just stay at home for one night and let me sleep. I really hope everyone I have in my mind right now reads this.
With flatmates, it’s different. You cannot hate them with a passion, you live with them.
But YOU. You, the annoying friend who just won’t go away, the annoying friend who is a fucking alcoholic and gets drunk every day out of his mind just to end up molesting other people to the point they just don’t find it funny anymore, YOU really get on my nerves. If I didn’t have to share this flat I would tell you and your friends INSTANTLY to leave my house and never come back. Even hearing your name mentioned in a conversation makes me wanna scream. Every day I have to fight – fight for the living room, fight for those couple of hours of peace before you FUCKERS who don’t even LIVE here come back and destroy everything we ever tried to establish.
It is 23:52 now and you still haven’t left. What’s even worse now, you moved to the hallway, so that I can hear your screaming voice even more perfectly.
As if the fucking SHIT that leaves your mouth would ever want to be heard by anyone with more intellect than you drunken bastard.
This flat makes me want to scream.
