It’s late Wednesday and my head is absoloutely exploding. I feel so trapped with the house, and with living with M_____ now. I can’t deal with it. I’m getting nothing from this and I am so restless to get out and do anything else. I need to travel and write, and the impulse is so strong and yet I was at home just now for a few minutes having ridden home to pick up my car from its MOT which my Dad sorted out and go and pick up M_____ from round the corner of my parents’ house and Dad shushed us in the few words we had spoken because the property news had come on and in the West Midlands in particular house prices are down. Slowed growth is the overall trend but in this area it doesn’t look good.
I can’t live this life. I’m not cut out for living with anybody in this way. I remember when I was living with Mum and Dad before after university and Mum would come up and ask what was wrong or say this or that, and I would explode I need my space. This when I had my room, the spare room, and my stuff was also spilling out into the dining room, just as it was last time I was living there. I cannot live around people.
Bills, cooking, washing - and M_____ and her fastidiousness bordering on neuroticism when it comes to cleanliness, I was so jealous when I saw [G____]’s place the other day and it was an absolute mess - and then MOTs and insurance and tax and the rest of it. I can’t deal with it all. I simply can’t. I need out. I am getting increasingly restless. And when I can’t stand England at the moment. I need to get away from here.
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