It's not me, it's you.

Yeah. You read it right. It's you. I'm tired of it all. So that's it -- we're through. I'm moving on, and I'm trying to pick up the pieces of my life and put them back together from the mess you left me in. I thought I could make you happy, but all I really did was make us both suffer.

It's better for us, this way.

But I still blame you.

;)

See you 'round?

Ahm.

So. I'm writing again? So fitful. So terribly fitful.

Nyar.

[] (http://pishoque.net/brian/images/rhapsody.jpg)I have this music because I bought an album of 50 songs from the 1920s for background music for my 1920s campaign.

I never actually intentionally listened to it until just now. Huh, that's a pretty good piece of music.

Rain. NOW!

Please?

;_;

So once, long ago, there was a tale of rage and sorrow. When -- actually, just before -- Walker was made to leave, Jim flipped out. Like totally flipped out, so when I went just to ask him what was going on with Walker his words were (verbatim, though this was via AIM): "I don't want to talk about it, and if you try and bring it up again, I'm moving out."

Now, Jim got on my case for 'getting bent out of shape' after hearing that from him. But, seriously, how else was I supposed to react? He went ballistic, so I started looking for a fallback plan. Someone else to live with. So I called Wally and Cheri, because I knew their roommmate (at the time) was planning on leaving. I made tenative arrangements to move in with Wally and Cheri when they move out (at the time, in about eight months -- I figured I might be able to crash at my parents place for a month or three, but want to try not relying on that (hooray independance!)).

So, since Jim was still all bent out of shape on this one, I confronted him and said, "Okay, Jim, this is how it's going down. Walker's moving in with Cody, and I'm moving in with Wally and Cheri. Good luck." He looks at me like I'm the one who started the drama, and then without even mentioning it to me, the next thing I know he's already got a plan to move in with Wally and Cheri too.

There has always been some uncertainty in that regard, but, I don't have any other options. That's the one choice that's availible to me, so I don't say anything.

But now I'm not so sure it's a good idea. Money's tight -- and it always is. I'm always trying to scrape together enough for us to get some form of grocery, and trying to cook cheap food that will fill all of us (even Peter, for which I sometimes even get thanked) and get us by. So when I got my reimbursment for travel expenses from a meeting in San Francisco, I risk not having enough bus fare by buying bread and cheese -- hey, at least we can have grilled cheese, right?

Here's the thing, though. I make just about 500$ a paycheck, and that's not really reliable. Right now it's closer to 550$, because we're doing the post- holiday returns, which is a lot of hours for me. But in April, that's going to dry up. Peter is independantly wealthy, and only ever worked because he felt like it (as far as I can tell -- he seems to have limitless money to draw on, thanks to his inheretance), and Jim is almost constantly telling me how much more money he's making now.

So why is it that I, the poorest one, am the only one who seems to be buying food for everyone?

It's not normally a problem -- I pay about 150$ less in rent, and about 250$ more in groceries a month (yes), and every time my mom sends me home with something to keep for myself I split it with my roommates anyway. I'm the only person who lives in the household who will initiate any cleaning efforts whatsoever, outside of Jim's very rare (bimonthly) vaccuuming.

And when I wake up today and think, "I will have a grilled cheese sandwich for breakfast today. It will tide me over until tomorrow. And I get paid the day after," all of the bread is gone. Now, I was awake, my light was on, and I could hear Peter and Jim talking when I was doing my morning workout.

Then I get up, take a shower, and go to the kitchen. There's Peter (having left every single light on in the house, again), with a bag of fast food. Jim closed his bedroom door the second I got out of the shower, for some reason. And then Peter says (as I open the cupboard and see that all of the bread is gone -- it wasn't last night), "Oh, sorry. You weren't up. I got breakfast for Jim and myself. You just missed it." Like he couldn't have knocked? Like they didn't hear my alarm go off? Like he couldn't have waited that one minute that they just missed me by?

And then when I figure I might as well make myself useful in the kitchen, I see that Peter has not done as he promised for almost a week now. The deal was that he would put dishes away if I washed them. But he didn't. I did it all.

At least I should be able to afford food by Wednesday.

I'm just wondering why I shared all of those brownies my mother made for me last night. Why am I looking out for people who don't care about me?

Because I don't have a choice. These people have the wealth and power to screw me over, and aren't afraid to do it. I have to smile and nod, or else I'll be homeless again.

At least I should be able to afford food by Wednesday.

And thanks to Dracos, I had a full meal on Saturday. (Hiya!)