I Think There's A Problem Here

I really need to get out of this house. When there's a woman trolling outside my bedroom when Jason and I are trying to have some alone time, there's a fucking problem. All I want to do are some of the things normal couples do in the privacy of my own bedroom. There's nothing unusual or interesting going on in here, honestly.

When there's a woman who can't walk ten feet to get something from the refrigerator interrupting me every five minutes, there's a fucking problem. All I hear all day is what other people need. I don't care anymore. There are things I need as well, but I don't demand people help me while I sit on my ass. I need to do these scholarship essays and finish my library book. And I need some uninterrupted time in which to do it.

When there's a woman purposefully insinuating things about me every time we interact, there's a fucking problem. If I go out with my boyfriend, it doesn't mean we go to the local gay bar and have an orgy. When people laugh at a stupid joke you make, it doesn't mean they're on to my horrible secret. I'm not going to marry any of the women I spent time with. And If I'm reading a book about how sickness influenced the evolution of our species, it doesn't mean I plan on getting AIDS. Thanks for making that connection, though.

Yes. There's a fucking problem here.