Candy coated hell

I have a Roomate who “vapes” which involves him smokeing an electronic thingie that puts out candy scented smoke. Which makes me feel like my little pony just walked thu the room and farted.

But this cotton candy Twinkie takes the spongy and not at all healthy cake.

Even the smell from the box is wrong.
It was like what you imagine Strawberry short cake would smell like if she was a real person. A real person who happens to have Daddy issues, and works as a stripper.

So says the Mykl.

Downtown

I like that when who ever does cover up graffiti they don’t just spray white over whatever words or pictures were on the wall. But likes┬áto use big blocks.It’s like an unfinished game of Tetris.

So says the Mykl.

Early mourning art

Waking up early today, I noticed that the latest art installation in the kitchen. Was larger again today.

Not sure why or when my Roomate’s decided to no longer do dishes.

Most days I will clean up a little bit of a mess if someone left it.

But lately it seems that half of us have decided to not clean up after themselves.
Most Saturdays the land lord shows up and does some yard work, or clean up the kitchen.

I am starting to feel like it’s cool that she comes and cleans up her own house.
But I think she is crossing the line from helping out, into the territory of helping us be lazy.

And by us I do mostly mean team stupid.
The ninja Roomate. The guy we never see .
Dropsy Roomate.
Mr. leaves his pants in the living room,and who when he drops something, uses some kind of magic that allows anything he drops to become invisible to him no matter how often he walks past it.

And lastly mr. Snoppy dog.
Mr smokeing pot like it’s a church and Chong movie, and dispute the fact that we all signed a no smoking in the house contract, seems to thing that we can’t smell the pot when his door is closed.
And his experience with cooking seems to be composed of entry level “spread making” Which is jail house cooking of top ramen, or “soups” and Mac and cheese. And as far as cleaning up things.
It’s not a surprise that he has spent time in various jails, and lock ups.
Anyone who leaves as much crap laying around as he does in the kitchen, could clearly not cover his tracks.

So I decided to get out today, so I don’t have to listen to her ask me about the mess. So says the Mykl.

I don’t give a fork.

Yesterday I asked one of my roommates if there were any dishes in his room? He told me in the dismissive tone, maybe a coffee cup and a plate , maybe.
Two maybes in one sentence might seem like a lot of maybes for such a simple question.

But my Roomate is a black belt in the art of making excuses.

He often will tell me that whatever it is that I complain about is not really a big deal. That my facts are wrong.
That I am over reacting.
It was not him who did it anyway,
And I am basically racist for even pointing it out.

The last part is his finishing move, delivered after we have stoped taking.
He will walk up to me and scrunch up his face, in what is clearly meant to show how much it bothers him to have to deal with something so unpleasant, but which mostly makes him look like he has gas.
And in an almost offhand way, he will point out some small thing he has noticed and ask me if I have been talking about whoever did that?
And then shake his head and say of course,and then some version of “white privilege”

So clearly the idea of asking him about the dishes was a waste of my time.

I don’t have the slightest idea where all the forks went.
Or why there is what looks like a pair of underwear on the stairs near my room.

Today my breakfast was a simple affair, and I noticed to late that my coffee supply was dangerously low. So it’s green tea today for me.
And a plastic fork.

So says the Mykl.

Horror bathroom part two

So there I was in the dream trying to follow the card.
And when the old man was done his hands still on the table he waited for me to pick the card.
I reached out and tapped the center card which he flipped over and it was not the fool. I started to walk away when he stopped me with a question.
Don’t you want to see the other cards? He asked.
So I turned back to the table and with a flourish, he plucked up the center card and flipped it over again.

He then flipped over the other two cards, and they were both blank. He smiled at me and inclined his head slightly towards the center card again.

So I reached out and flipped it over and it was also blank.

In the dream I was confused.

The old man just looked and me and then said” The hidden river flows, the hands of fate move.” And with that, I woke up.
I was a little panicked, not sure if it was the dream or the spit being stuck in my sleep mask making me choke. Either way.
Off putting.

So says the Mykl.