The problem is...

I get so easily frustrated sometimes. The problem seems to always be the same thing: my own space and my stuff.

I've always had my own room so I'm not used to sharing space to begin with. But despite having my own room, I've never really had my own space. That space where no one comes in and touches anything and a place that I can call my own. My space was always being invaded by parents and little brothers. Annoying. My stuff is also the same thing. It didn't matter that it was mine or that I bought it, it always became communal property. I hate it. I hate people touching my stuff and I hate people going into my room and moving my stuff around and fucking with my stuff.

So staying in my aunt's living room for the last year and a half was VERY difficult on my temper and my patience. Grateful for a place to stay and all, but I can't help the way I feel about these things. Woken up every morning by 7AM or earlier by little kiddos jumping on me. Okay, I can handle that. They're cute anyway. TV on so the kids can watch their morning shows, I can do that too. It's when the aunt and uncle come into the living room and turn on all the lights and shit and open all the windows that I get frustrated. Especially since I don't get much sleep to begin with. Petty, I know.

My stuff is another thing. I had no where to put my stuff. Like...no where. I have a small closet in the hall that isn't even a closet. I can hang like 5 sweaters in there and that's it. That's where I have to put my stuff. I've always had a lot of stuff. But things like my laptop and shit do not go in a closet, so where do I put them? Anywhere I pray no one will touch. And if you know anything about me and my laptops, you know never to touch my laptop. I will fucking kill you if you touch my laptop without permission. Double death if you use it without permission. Either way, no space and nothing at all. It's almost like living on the street (luxuriously I suppose). You can sleep at night, but you get up on someone else's accord.

Of course I don't complain out loud. Just in my head.

So, I finally have my own room and I'm sharing a closet again. Similar to what I had at my mother's but not as bad. So, I've got space and ish now and I'm a happier person for it. The grandparents are coming to town so I move my stuff out of the way so they can stay in my room. I come back and find my side desk has moved a long with the stuff on it and my clock radio is unplugged and my shit has been shoved into my closet left and right. Needless to say, I get pissed.

So now everyone's gone and I'm left to clean up the mess that is left in my room. The floors and ridiculously dusty and my closet is a mess. My shelves are hazardous and there's a random pair of socks in my room. I'm doing it because I want my room back. I want a lock on the door too but that's a whole other ball game.

SIGH.