Well, my roommates weren't doing anything useful as usual. Andrew was away, Antonio was sleeping, Don is nocturnal and Lamar was taking a break from watching Fox News to sleep. Furthermore I was in one of my moods where I plot World War 4, which ends up with [EXPUNGED] and the bombing of [EXPUNGED] back into the Stone Age happening alongside the extermination of all [REDACTED], [REDACTED], [REDACTED] and Scientologists. I then decided to do what I normally do when I get like this.
Did I play Sid Meier's Civilization? No, I cleaned everything that I could think of like I was one of those catgirl maids that I want to own, love and start a family with. This involved cleaning most of the kitchen, part of the living room, emptying nine garbage cans, taking care of the recycling, salvaging some recycling from the dumpster, cleaning two bathrooms, washing some rags that a previous resident had soaked in his own urine, and moving half-a-dozen cans and buckets used to hold cigarettes back into the proper smoking area. I did what takes most of the residents at this assisted living facility a week to start and two weeks to finish in one hour. Then again most of them are lazy unhygenic fuckwits who spend their days smoking, gossiping, and having schizophrenic delusions about both their penis and Jesus at the same time.
After that I spoke to Mike, my landlord, and told him about the situation and asked questions on whether it was okay for Andrew to have claimed both the coffee table and the dining room table for his artwork, his computer, and his DVDs. Not only did Mike say he would discuss this with all twenty or so of the residents at the weekly mandatory meeting next week, but he gave me two dollars so I could get an energy drink. I have the best landlord ever so far, which is really what I'm trying to say I'm happy about.