Murder on Monday

Living with someone inside closed quarters for continuous weeks is quite the recipe for disastrous self reflections.
Case in point this morning wherein I was told that I try to create fights.

I mean, I never would have thought, nor known this particular aspect about myself had I not been offered this useful piece of information and constructive criticism by the other half over a small argument over trash .

Yes! Trash.

I might never be able to come to terms with strewing empty snack packets on the floor around the house instead of throwing them in the garbage.
Yes that is exactly what some people are in a habit of doing because the trash can is maybe on the other side of the room and the empty bhujia packet is thusly just swept off the table and on the floor from where it will be picked up whenever they deem fit.
Now it does get on my nerves but I have learnt to say nothin and usually I pick it up and throw in the trash except yesterday I didn't.
This morning, and this was well after the others had woken up, when I started cleaning the house, I saw the empty packet of bhujia along with another small biscuit packet lying on the carpet and knew them to be from last night.

Well, I cleaned it up and just now while sipping on water happened to mention it in a way that might have not been very convivial because I hate to feel that my house which I take great pains to clean and resurrect each morning is treated like a dump yard.

That empty packets and tissues are conveniently thrown on the floor either to be trashed later or just left to be discovered by me really bothers me and I let it be known and was told in return that it's my habit to pick up fights in the morning.

The only morning habit I have is finishing the chores and I perhaps do not make any conversations during such times and yet here we are.

I have now resolved to not talk to people who simply cannot abide by basic house rules and right now I want to begin hacking at flesh with my recently sharpened knives.