Moral Dilemma

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I hate everyone that lives in a house. This Saturday I'll be moving house for the ninth time this year. The first move pushed me to the edge, and that was before things started to go wrong. I've lost my temper only once this year - for the first time since I was in primary school. (It was my dad, and he's fine.) I have cried on the way to and from work, but I haven't actually cried AT work. This is a plus.

Still, if you live in a house, I hate you.

I hate everyone who earns more than me. I'll make about $15,000 this year. It's more than I've ever earnt before, and if I wasn't paying for things I couldn't buy last year, I think I'd be pretty comfortable by now. As long as nothing else went wrong.

Still, if you earn more than me, I hate you. (I also hate you if your work is steady. I have five jobs at present - one as small as half an hour a week - and this week I lost one-third of my income because one of my tutoring families is travelling for some reason. I've begun five new jobs this year, and ended two. Change is bad.)

I hate happy people. I know I'm lucky: I'm educated, and I like my job, and I'm in a good relationship, and I'm still on speaking terms with my parents - but I feel I need to mainline sugar just to keep civil. I think I'm mean to my students, which is unforgiveable. My whole being is bent on survival, on trying not to make enemies, on doing my job properly, and on trying to hide how I feel from my friends so they don't give up and just stop seeing me. I keep catching myself just in time before I smash things I can't afford to replace (windows, walls). I wish so much I was a better person. (Less whiny, for example.)

So if you haven't cried in the last 24 hours, I hate you.

My present location is house-sitting. It's completely free. My only duties are collecting mail and feeding the cat. It's pretty good, except for two things that happened at the last minute: they forgot to tell me the password to their internet system (leaving me cut off from information about jobs, housing, and possible publication - all of which have been extremely relevant at this time)- and refused to tell me via email after I moved in (inflexible of them but partly my fault for not double-checking that vital detail before they left). Secondly, at the last moment they told me I'd need to put medicine in the cat's ears twice a day. See 'slugs and drugs' for details of my squeamishness.

I was pretty upset about both things, but I've dealt with them okay. I hate the cat with a fiery passion (purely because of the medicine) but oh well. Because of these two things, added to my hatred of the transient lifestyle I've been forced into lately, I was extremely looking forward to moving on.

This week I was offered a room in a sharehouse (very exciting! I'll have an actual home for the first time in months!)...but I have to start paying rent this Saturday. I have JUST enough food, if I don't mind having lamb four times in a week (there are worse fates), but I'm going to have to think of a cunning plan to stretch my $30 of petrol to my next payday (Wednesday, if my brand-new employers are to be trusted). So far the best plan I've thought of is....not moving house. Moving is always physically and emotionally difficult, so my body has already collapsed on me. I'm functional thus far, but I know I'm on the edge. The best thing to do is move rapidly, get the pain over as quick as possible, then try to recover.

I emailed the people who own my current house, letting them know that I'd be moving this week in order to keep my health from getting too bad, and asking them whether Tim (who is WAY more responsible than me, and who they met before they left) can housesit in my place (or if I should arrange cat-feeding with the neighbour, or take the cat to their usual cattery).

They said no: I should stay in the house. "So [the cat] doesn't get stressed."

So, moral dilemma ensues.

I already feel taken advantage of by these people, even though they're sort of doing me a favour by letting me stay here. Now they're prioritising their cat (who, it should be noted to be fair, is afraid of men due to being abused) over me.

So I hate them very much. Do I:

1) drop by occassionally and make sure the cat has food - but possibly let it stay outside, and stop giving it medicine (it's for a thyroid imbalance....so presumably the condition was never life-threatening, and any normal person would have let it slide for the 6 weeks they were away)

2) stay in the house and do whatever the owners ask.

3) put it in the cattery

4) Some combination of the above.

I began the blog knowing I'd choose number two. It's a risk to my health and sanity - and therefore my work (the friends that are still with me will probably last another two-three weeks of me crying on them), but I still believe in taking the moral high ground, no matter what the rest of the world does to me. And I believe a permanent record of events will keep me honest. Hello, internet-land.

But I suppose I may as well be honest with the house owners, too - just let them know a few things, like: I hate your cat, and I'm mentally ill. Maybe, maybe they'll let me off the hook.

We'll see how it works out.

Fel, who takes the moral high ground and makes sure EVERYONE knows about it :)

Image by Kayepants
Courtesy of Creative Commons