I smell of bleach

Jesus fucking Christ, this is SO not the day I had planned. But what are ya gonna do? Spending the better part of ELEVEN hours cleaning your bathroom is at least productive in SOME sense, right? Perspective, Gary, perspective, I kept tellin myself all day. You see, after having one of my super insomnia nights where I went to bed close to 5:30am, I was awoken by that familiar, instantly ulcer-inducing sound -- a knock on my apt. door. Translation, the landlords. After being given the usual 3 seconds to answer the door, The Old Man keys himself in, and I soon hear him and The Plumber enter the bathroom. I knew exactly what was going on. The whole fucking thing's my own fault. I should have alerted them MONTHS ago that the shower didn't totally turn off...that it dripped. If you jerked the knob several times, you could make it so it didn't leak MUCH, so this is what i've done. Anything to avoid the landlords. My life is ALL about avoidance. Avoidance of anyone, and to some degree, anything, that causes me stress. I recommend it. I'm a big Put It Off-er. Anyway, I'm sure at some point, the faucet actually turned off after several jerks, but it's gotten progressively worse. Literally, in the past week, i've flirted with telling the landlords. So after gathering my composure, I casually walk into my hallway after hearing the LANDLADY being called up to join her husband. This is how I start my fucking day. I'm soon bullshitting about how I've noticed it for a couple months (reality: July) and how if you jerk the knob it kinda stops (reality: no more, if ever). Ugh. Just a nightmare. The old man's shaking his head, the plumber and his teenage assistant are laughing, and the landlady, always nice, simply says we should TELL them when there's a problem. I know, I know, I utter, desperate to both urinate and put on a cup of tea. The landlady's soon noting how she's been on the phone with the water company, "yelling at the lady," saying her bill can't possibly be so high. Never having paid a water bill, I shudder to think what our 6-month dripping faucet has cost them. It's at this point that I instantly think "rent hike?" My mood darkens even more. Then it actually gets worse. After I slink back toward the kitchen in shame, I hear the old man say to the fucking plumber in disgust, and in his broken Italian accent, "they don't clean." Um, WHAT?! So the fucking plumber was commenting at the cleanliness of my bathroom? And the old man flat out states that we don't clean?!?!?!?!? I was CONSUMED with rage. My fucking apt. is NOT a hellhole. In fact, most everyone who enters it comments how clean it is, "especially for a guy's place." And more to the point, I am CONSTANTLY tidying up. HERE is the problem...roomies. I am NOT Florence, The Fucking Maid. And I admittedly don't clean as thoroughly as I would if I lived alone, because I know in 10 minutes, the roomie will mess it up. And it was even worse when I had two roomies. But one is still bad. Especially one who's incapable of, for example, eating at the living room table without leaving behind some sticky residue like a 4-year-old retarded child would. I'm also not going to cause friction by constantly noting how Dipshit isn't cleaning this or cleaning that to perfection. He's certainly not the biggest slob on earth, but he's still bad. And so, the coup de grace came when suddenly the old man's sauntering into the kitchen to join me in an Awkward Moment. At first, he's just staring at me. I think I uttered a pointless "hi!" as my tea boiled and he began to look around the premises. He is soon saying "you need to clean...if you want to live here, you need to clean." He begins pointing at the stove, which MERCIFULLY I actually took a brillo pad to like 2 weeks ago, so it COULD have been much, much worse. But he's pointing at it and shaking his head in contempt, saying it's a new stove and blah blah blah. SHUT THE FUCK UP, OLD MAN, DO YOU HEAR ME?! That's what I wanted to say in my fantasy, as I whip a large steak knife out and hold it to his throat. I promptly blamed the roomie, saying HE'S a slob and I DO clean and can't be held responsible. I even whipped out my patented "I'm on your side here" shoulder pat, speaking to him in a soft, comforting tone. He then wondered if we even had cleaning supplies. I promptly shut him up by whipping open the cabinet under the sink, which revealed a bevy of helpful products to make the apt sparkle. His eyes lit up at the Comet bleach and Brillo Pads. Our eyes met and we made love. Kidding about that part. So this has been an exhausting background story, but the point is...around noon, I entered the bathroom with paper towels and an arsenal of cleaning aids. While I maintain the bathroom was acceptable, sure, it definitely had its issues...and over the next 11 hours, I fucking sprayed, brilloed, wiped, and scrubbed every fucking inch of that bathroom. I literally did nothing else all day of consequence except eat, write this blog, and make my bed. Pathetic...yet necessary...I guess? So now it's spotless. How long can it last? Well, being some things literally hadn't been cleaned in there perhaps in my duration in this apt, I think today's effort will last long. Oh, and Dipshit told me he just noticed the leak "2 or 3 days ago." THIS is the stupidity i'm dealing with. The guy has zero idea how to live like an adult. I'm so fucking tired of being The Responsible One in any given situation. Ugh. Anyway, I still reek of Comit, and should really get to bed. What a ridiculous fucking day.