Sulking, and sulking.

People enter my room while I'm away; I know because things are knocked over, shoes by the door are out of place.
People eat my food. It'd be okay if they asked to take my popcorn or cheese or spinach or something, but they don't. (I'm actually glad, now, that I'm the only real meat-eater in the suite. It's the only food I can still rely on to be there. Besides Chinese stuff, I suppose, because they don't know what it is. I think they've even been using my rice recently. I've taken to hiding snacks in my bedroom..)
People use my dishes and utensils. Normally I'd be fine with this, if, like me, they cleaned them when they were finished. But I sometimes find myself dishless because all of my things - and everyone else's things - end up festering in the sink for days on end. Sometimes I can't even find the fucking sponge when I want to wash a bowl, because everyone else throws it into the sink after they've used it, and then it's piled upon by more dishes.
People drink my orange juice, and then instead of just throwing away the carton, they fill it back up with water so when I go to finish off my juice, not only is there less than I remember (even with the water, it was lighter than before), I get a mouthful of watery, vaguely orangey gross.

I don't know whether I'm ill-suited to live with other people, or just these people. I feel like living with friends - real friends, good friends; not aquaintance friends or situational friends - would be a fuckload easier, because I could actually tell them when things are bothering me and not be whispered as bitchy. The problem with aquaintance and situational friends is that they don't really care about you, for the most part. These kinds of friendships are more about keeping one's own appearance together, rather than knowing people who can rely on you. These are the kinds of friendships in which everyone secretly hates everyone else, and everyone bonds through gossip and catty remarks. I hope it gets better after a certain age. I doubt it.

...

UGH. It's two thirty. I spent most of today studying for my art history midterm. I was just down in Danny, Justin, and Alex's room; Norm and Shane were there too. We were studying and quizzing each other and commiserating and sulking and swearing a lot.

This is ridiculous. This test is going to be way worse than last semester's final. Too much fucken information. We are not art history majors. There is a reason I hated my history classes in high school and earlier. Fuck this. I am not in the slightest ready for this. ARGH.

Time to sleep. I am fairly confident that I will do well on the digital video midterm we also have tomorrow. But art history..seriously. Our teacher is insane.

Olivia