Chronicles of the Whiniest Bitch Alive pt 4

     It's summertime, meaning I am not leaving my room for love or money. The issue is, wherever I go, rot follows. It's easier in public, when I can just reason that all the dead animals around are simply because of bad drivers or wildcats. But here, in this tiny house, it's unavoidable and suffocating. The mold I find on fresh food seems to grow from my fingertips. The bugs seem to find me inviting, snuggling up in my bed as I scream. The mice, at least, don't seem to realize how much they terrorize me, their furry gray bodies scurrying underfoot- They're trying to get by, just like me. But the roaches, they know. They relish it. Hissing and flapping their corn husk wings. I stomp around like an angry storybook giant, and they laugh. They know there will be a day when their time is up, and they know it is not here, not now, not with me.

TL;DR- My room is gross and I hate it