It is hard to live with other people, even one other person. It is hard to live with another person's dishes and laundry and stubble in the sink. It's not enough just to clean up after yourself - there are a thousand little chores and errands that keep a household moving. It ain't easy keeping entropy at bay, especially in the concrete bunker,
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The worst part was calling J and telling him that I had to throw out half of the Folsom St. beer.
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I take this as a sign from above that I should clean the bathroom less often. After all, beer could explode all over the walls at any minute, rendering all of my hard work pointless.
For many years, I washed all dishes by hand. I found it oddly soothing. When my parents finally got a dishwasher in their house, they were so puzzled by it that we all washed our dishes by hand for years afterwards and used the dishwasher pas a giant drying rack.
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No meth...errr...beer...for you.
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