I understand intellectually that it's maybe a little wrong for me to be pissy about my roomate cleaning the apartment. It needed to be cleaned, I was planning to clean it, but the difference is that when I clean - I clean surfaces and stuff, and I'll shake out the copious amounts of cat hair, and mop and sweep and do all of these things, but I won't DENUDE THE LIVING ROOM AND KITCHEN OF PERSONAL OBJECTS and make it the most sterile place in the world! I came home today, hoping to take a shower and do some work and find my bed covered in my books that i keep in the living room, the throw blanket for the couch, the hat i hang on the wall in the kitchen, some papers and things that I like to have in the living room (and, yeah, laziness plays a part in that) and the entire bathroom is off limits because she's just scrubbed it. I mean, I feel slightly bad for not having participated in this episode of Clean the Apartment Stat! but at the same time -- don't take my shampoo out of the shower and put it on my dresser. I live here. It belongs in the shower, okay? That's where shampoo lives. That's it's home, and I only vaguely care if she feels that the shower is crowded with bathing products -- we're three women, and we have one bathroom. These things happen.
In other less irritated news: I've started reading an incredibly beautiful book that anyone interested in The Iliad should read. War Music by Christoper Logue is a fast and awe inspiring read, and you should check it out. An excerpt:
Sometimes Before the gods appear Something is marked: A noise. A note, perhaps. Perhaps A change of temperature. Or else, as now, The scent of oceanic lavender, That even as it drew his mind Drew from the seal-coloured sea onto the beach A mist that moved like weed, then stood, then turned Into his mother, Thetis', mother lovelost face, Her fingers next, that lift his chin, that push His long, redcurrant-coloured hair Back from his face, her voice, her words:
"Why tears, Achilles? Rest in my arms and answer from your heart."