My friends often tell me I should write a book about my housemates experiences. I am sure I have enough anecdotes for a book. As I keep telling people--I started out dreaming that I would live with friends, then I lowered my expectations to people who are clean, quiet and non-crazy, then just quite and not crazy, and now just not crazy. I am in the middle of another war at the moment, and its not pleasant. Something has changed after Long dengue and confrontation stresses me out no end. I realise that eventually he will move and I will move, and his exploits will just be a dinnertable story. But, the interim period is painful, and I have half-heartedly searching for places. The rental scene is not pretty.
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