Some things cannot be changed

I recently got sick with what the medical name should be called anxiety disorder. I don't know if the symptoms of anxiety disorder are like me, but my anxiety is real anyway. But I was too embarrassed to tell anyone about it, so I had to find a tree hole to talk about my long-haired roommate who shared a room.

Before this woman came in, I had always slept on time, and the quality of my sleep was pretty good. The family is not accustomed to the so-called nightlife, and will definitely go to bed at 10:30 every night at the latest.

I'm used to going to bed early and getting up early, plus I can't stay up late at school, and of course there's no nightlife in the group dorm, I like quiet, I don't like bouncing, I don't like playing music outside, I don't like private theaters at home, I just like to stay quietly alone.

So I chose to rent this quiet place, when the agency staff showed me the house, I was attracted by the grapevine crawling aisle and the yard with children playing in the old people, so immediately shot the board to pay the rent for a full year. The house is a two-bedroom house, and apparently sooner or later a lady will come in to share the quiet coziness in the other room of the house.

The long-haired lady rented the house three days ago, and I remember that she was carrying a large suitcase in the evening, and she led a group of men and women, two men and two women to be exact, into the house under the guidance of the agency staff. The gimbaled wheels of the suitcase made a rough sound on the floor, rumbling and making people's skulls tingle. The sound of footsteps walking around the house and the shrill voices of the women filled the space, and fortunately I closed the door early to find myself some peace and quiet.

The next morning, the long-haired lady came out at the door of the room as I was getting ready to go out to work. She was a little stunned to see me pushing open the door, and then smiled at me, and I just thought she was smiling a little bit, but nodded out of politeness to show her friendliness.

The first day the long-headed lady lived in, I came back from work and found no one in the living room, listened carefully to the movement in her room, and if I was right, she should not be in her room.

I slipped on my slippers and came out of the room, went to the kitchen and made myself a curry smothered chicken rice, then cleaned up the kitchen utensils and put them in the kitchen cabinet. I began to follow my previous routine, surfing the Internet and reading a book, and the long-haired lady had not returned by the time I went to bed at 10:30.

The sound of a heavy door slamming woke me up after about two minutes, and then I heard the crisp sound of keys clinking.

I wanted to turn over and go back to sleep, but I found that things were not as simple as I thought. The long-haired lady had turned on the water heater in the toilet-cum-bathroom a few minutes later, while the loud sound of water flowing filled my ears; about twenty minutes later I heard the sound of cooking in the kitchen again, with the inferior range hood rumbling and pots and pans clanking merrily, especially harsh in the darkness of the night. When the other party finished showering and eating, I had turned on the light to find the headphones that I hadn't used for a long time.

Although the headphones in the ears have a noise reduction effect, but actually because of the uncomfortable does not work, I tossed and turned in bed for a long time, finally at dawn only dazed sleep for a short while, and soon I was in the alarm clock stubbornly urged to get up with a dizzy head.

I found out that the long-haired lady would take a shower every afternoon at 5 or 6 o'clock, then leave the house, then return at around 2 or 3 o'clock in the night, return to shower and cook dinner, the whole process lasted about an hour or so, and I basically had a hard time falling asleep since I was woken up. Two nights down the line, my sleep delay disorder translates into anxiety about the day ahead, and it seems that before the new day even begins, I'm already declaring complete failure in the wee hours of the morning. The anxiety of insomnia carries over into the nearly ten hours of daytime work, and the worry about productivity and work completion puts me in an even more anxious state.

On the third night, I found it hard enough to get myself in shape, and I even wondered if I should consider getting out of bed and having a rage at night if the long-haired lady continued to do so.

But then I thought better of it, after all, everyone's lifestyle is different, and this result in the end, it seems that the only one who can be blamed is his own nerves are too sharp.

So my life became more and more anxious and dull, both at night and during the day I felt scared, at night I was worried about not being able to sleep after being woken up in a daze, and during the day I was worried about getting up late to affect the full attendance award at the end of the month.

What's scary is that I found that the toilet seat was not quite the same as the original one. It used to be white, but now it often has black stripes. I found that sometimes when I looked down to go to the toilet, I would find a piece of yellow, green and green indistinguishable color on the floor in front of the toilet, which was obviously something that came out of my mouth and made me sick.

From then on, I went to the toilet with a process that added an autonomously formed pause, and after flushing into the toilet, I had to stop and check the toilet ring to make sure it had not been stepped on with my foot.

On the fourth day after work, I returned to my room and found that the long-haired lady had not yet gone out. After deliberately meeting with her, I politely mentioned the sound of the kitchen and the toilet seat at night, only to see the lady smile calmly and say, "We are sharing a room, so you probably can't interfere with what I do or don't do. As for the things you said I will try to pay attention to some of them in the future, but some things even my grandfather and mother have never been able to change."

After the woman finished glancing at me after dripping wet hair into the room with a hair dryer blowing up the hair, in the rumbling sound I clearly felt an inexplicable indignation from the bottom of the heart slowly diffused upward open, lips mumbled a few times after having to turn around and go into their own rooms.

I thought about doing the same to others, or getting up at five or six in the morning and making the same noise, so that she can also taste the taste of being disturbed, but then I thought about it and thought: if I do it and what is the basis?

I also wanted to go over and talk to the agency. But then I thought, I just paid a few hundred dollars for the information, for this kind of dispute is not a dispute, the agency where willing to intervene?

I don't really care what kind of profession the long-haired lady is in, I'm just indignant that her behavior sometimes has no regard for other people's feelings. What I don't understand is how I met such an odd co-rental partner when I was living here so well.

But it's useless for me to say this to her, and to my friends, they will probably advise me: "Two choices, move out or put up with it." So I simply chose not to tell anyone else about this unpleasant experience, and just quietly found a hole in the tree to keep quiet about it.