House help relationships

I can't stand house help.
Sure, I love what they do: sweep the floors, wash the dishes, make your beds and sometimes cook up a meal. But other than that, I despise them.
It's nothing personal to be honest. I have no grudges towards any of the helpers I've previously had. But most of the time, they don't last. The last time there was one present in my house was eight years ago, and she didn't last long.
Here's the thing. Their job is to keep everything clean, make sure nothing is a mess. So with that said, they're constantly on the move, arranging things, touching your stuff. And I don't like that. I don't like leaving a room with a book on a table and coming back to see it gone(alright that's exaggerated, but you get the point).
You see, I think most of them believe that whatever can be moved, stored, and hidden should be moved, stored, and hidden. Whatever's not a piece of bulky furniture is a mess. Like, I know it's a mess but at least I know where my stuff are!!!
One time, a helper stuffed a stuff-less stuffed animal in a drawer because she thought it was a rag. That was quite traumatizing.
Aside from that, I don't like being around a lot of people. Home is where I get to be my ultimate ugly self and the only people who are allowed to see me at that state are my family. So having a helper around is quite uncomfortable.
I honestly believe that househelp is one of the best things that can happen to a household,but for people like me, I'd rather live in a pig sty than be with a stranger.

100 Things to Write About: Birthdays

Birthdays never really end up the way I plan them to be. Your birthday was no exception. I was planning to celebrate it by myself, probably eat a slice of cake and mope about you not liking me. Basically the same things I was doing in your past birthdays.

This year was different, though. It’s not that I didn’t want to celebrate your birthday, or that today wasn’t special. It’s just that today felt ordinary, and I was rushing in and out of classrooms to bother about feelings that should have been dead long ago.

I take this as a sign from the universe telling me that you are no longer worth the cheesy blogposts, tweets, or the poems that I write. Maybe this is finally the time where I realize that I am finally over you because suddenly your birthday does not feel like a holiday.

So congratulations on being nineteen and travelling around the world and being ridiculously handsome. But I guess I’d have to congratulate myself too. I guess, probably, I’ve moved past you.

This calls for some cake.