Cockroaches. Cockroaches everywhere.
I’ve grown so accustomed to their presence, I don’t even bother trying to kill them anymore. I’ll go into the kitchen at night to fill up a glass of water and after turning on the light, I have to give them a minute to crawl into the nearest available dark corner.
I’ve entered the bathroom in order to brush my teeth and have had to wash my toothbrush first, because cockroaches have just been chilling on the bristles.
All of that was fucking annoying. However, the moment that really cemented my hatred was when I reorganized my bookshelves and saw the masses of cockroach feces all over my books.
THAT IS JUST UNACCEPTABLE!
That shit is just disrespectful. I mean, I haven’t had pest controllers come in and eradicate them. No. I’ve allowed them to live among us out of the goodness of my heart. And because I can’t afford exterminators and my landlord won’t pay.
But mostly because I’m too nice to kill innocent creatures.
But when they start pooping all over my toothbrush and my books, shit gets real.
I have had it. I am sick of having to wash my plates and cutlery before I use it.
I’m sick of having to mentally prepare myself before going into the kitchen or bathroom at night for fear of seeing hundreds of the pricks crawling over every available surface.
I’m sick of turning over in my sleep, waking up and seeing a cockroach stare me down at 2fuckingam.
There’s one crawling on my TV remote as we speak. I can’t even be bothered to squish it. That’s how inoculated I have become against the whole situation.
I killed it. This blog post is making me feel super aggressive against the creepy, disgusting little shits.
So I’ve had it. The last straw. I’m calling someone in to get rid of those motherfuckers before I do something drastic.
I wish I was rich enough to not live in a shitty apartment with fucking cockroaches. Unfortunately, I’m not. Stupid Bachelor of Arts.