it's 2am on a friday night. i crawl in from a long week of work, completely stoned.

as a considerate and not completely devoid of sense flatmate, is now the time to ask me about our council tax bill, bewail your non-boyfriend "i just want to be mates" bullshit, and whinge about your twentysomething ennui?

do i care that we need toilet paper or if you talked to your mother on the phone?

fuck no.

i just ate a whole lavender cake and am trying to get to grips with my bobypins and the stench of grass in my hair before rising before dawn for work tomorrow.

leave me the fuck alone.

i hate women.