Today is one of those days when I really, really hate my roommate. For the most part, since the last time I wrote about our issues in the fall, things have been quiet. We learned to coexist, to an extent, even if anything resembling a friendship has long since passed.

Today, when I got back after being home for a few days, there was a little note on my door saying that it was my turn to empty the dishwasher and take out the trash. Now, under normal circumstances, I would be fine with that. However, I have been ridiculously busy for the past month, so I haven't been home--to cook or make trash. I rarely eat at home, much less cook, so my contribution to these dishes in the dishwasher? One coffee mug, one water glass, and a spoon. I don't exactly use trash in the kitchen very often either, I mostly use the one in my bedroom, which I empty myself. So the mountain of garbage that was sitting in our utility closet? Yeah, not mine.

Now, when this girl makes trash, she doesn't just put it in the trashcan. Anything big--like milk cartons, OJ containers, pizza boxes--gets put next to the trashcan. They recently bought a blender, so the empty blender box was full of all the larger things that they had gone through recently, and it was even spilling over the sides. I, on the other hand, had one milk carton. One. And it was a half gallon. To even get this stuff outside to the dumpster, I had to use a whole other large trash bag, which means we're out of them. Since I bought this box of trash bags, it means that it's her turn to buy them. We'll see if she actually does.

Normally I don't mind this whole switch off thing of taking turns emptying the trash and the dishwasher. However, in the beginning of the semester, she NEVER did any of it! Never mind that she's never even lifted a duster and the vacuum cleaner only once, when there was a bug on the floor that she didn't want to touch, but she did this same thing to me for months. She didn't even have the excuse of being busy because it's not like she has a social life or anything. She's always there. And yet, now that I have been a little busy and haven't had time, that is apparently unacceptable.

I am counting down the days to when we won't be living together anymore. Sixty-eight days until the end of finals, and I assume (or hope) that she leaves for the summer. One hundred and fifty-two days until the end of our lease. I think I can make it.