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Yesterday after spending the morning reminiscing and generally having some really productive therapy with my non-existent therapist i decided to take myself on a date. A few months ago i was on Wikipedia and somehow randomly i found out there's a mall here that claims to have the highest freestanding escalator in North America. For some reason this fascinated me, so with the last of my free time i decided to go visit. On the way i walked around a part of town i usually subway straight past. It was Sunday so a lot of stuff was closed, there's this weird juxtaposition of expensive modern condos and run-down main street stores, a bit of graffiti but not as much as Melbourne, lots of white families in cars and Asian teens walking around. I went into a dumpling joint i'd heard about and had the best dumplings ever. Good Chinese - no deep-frying, no sugary sauce - just simple fresh vegetables and meat steamed in beautiful dough wrappers. Delicious tea. Then i walked up to the mall with the infamous escalator. It didn't look very tall from the ground floor, but i felt a little vertigo standing on it to go a couple of stories up - it's suspended in the middle of an atrium. I later found out there's a much taller one in the CNN Center in Atlanta, but it was still fun. I sat in the Starbucks opposite for a while, right in the center of this weird pseudo-downtown, looking out at the park, the emo kids, the Asian students, the Russian mafia...

It was really refreshing and inspiring just to go somewhere different and see some different things, do some stuff for me. Then i got home. Everyone was back but i went straight up to the bedroom and talked to J about all this shit going on in my head. I said i hoped the benefits of the weekend alone could stick with me for a while.

Well they did, for about 12 hours. This morning i went down for breakfast and - as usual - the place is filthy. There's dog food all over the table, open packets of donuts and crackers on the counter, empty sweetener sachets, full sweetener sachets, crumbs and jam and butter and shit everywhere, dirty cups and plates all through the kitchen and lounge, shit in the sink... Every morning i come down and it's like this - i spend 10-15 minutes cleaning up everyone else's shit before i can relax. The other day J's mom got pissed at me for cleaning her mug before she was done with it, which would be justified if the other 65 mornings i've woken up here it hadn't been sitting there cold and half-full in exactly the same place i took this one from. Seriously, i've lived with junkies who keep a cleaner house than these two. But you know, i don't say anything, it's not my place, it's their house. They go on and on saying "oh we'll clean it up in a minute" and then it's the next day and everything is still there. I see this as my job - i clean up every day, J and i cook most days - i'm a cinderella but at least i'm not paying rent.

And normally i'm okay with that, but to go from the peace and quiet and tidiness of my weekend straight into this? I started having an anxiety attack and went back upstairs. Two minutes later the parents are up and let the dog out - the dog who had thankfully stayed with an uncle over the weekend. Immediately there is the incessant barking and growling, then the yelling, then the spoiling of the little fucker with a treat anyway, then more barking... And here i am trapped again. The library isn't open today because it's some holiday here, the parents are home, and i have nowhere to go. I want to go somewhere with internet but i can't spend my whole life in random Starbucks stores across Toronto. I don't have the money to do all this shit.

It only took 12 fucking hours. This is fucked.

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