When did single people lose their rights?
Okay, it is a tad dramatic… but seriously come on!
My home, my sanctuary is now a barren field laced with booby trips just beckoning my foot or mouth to fall in. I’ve had to skilfully manoeuvre around my natural habitat to maintain my own sanity in the face of two couples co-habiting under the same roof I suffer under.
The kitchen and the bathroom seem to be the ‘hot zones’ where my patience dangerously weaves in and out of their occupation. My dinner sabotaged by their loving displays of conjuring up culinary delights to warm their cockles before copulation. My bathing subject to a hostile takeover as one partner after another stealthily slides under the radar to abort my need for warm water and a de-misted mirror.
My basic rights are under fire! This it seems is a survival story of a single person undergoing an endurance test no Navy seal would pass.
And I have not even touched upon the swift upheaval one experiences when conditions rapidly change – like a cease-fire. It’s an eerie silence before the troops come in.
I open the front door to find that two has become one – there is a sense of quiet and the deception that life has returned back to normal. And then like rapid-fire missiles of conversational chunks I embrace myself to take the hit.
Their barrage of love and gusto brought on by the absence of their other half, I take as body blows anaesthized thankfully by the affects of alcohol.
Temporary relief comes in the form of communication re-established between the two via a mobile phone interruption. But then it is back to action and the urgency is heightened as they unleash yet another tale of wounded emotions from a spurned advance of love or euphoria from a well executed move of commitment.
They are delusional. They’ve been AWOL and have deliriously come back home to a temporary existence of drinking, smoking, and swearing without the threat of their partner putting the alliance in jeopardy.
And as for me, well I feel like I’ve been put on rations. Those nights in where no one is in is scarce. I am adapting and letting go of lamenting about the good ol’ times.
Plus I am doing what any good survivor does – I am preparing my bunker for when times really do get tough. The one place that is still my own is my bedroom. And slowly but surely I acquire the necessary possessions to achieve an indestructible fortress of solace.
If you see a potty by my bed that’s when you know the war has really hit home.
My home, my sanctuary is now a barren field laced with booby trips just beckoning my foot or mouth to fall in. I’ve had to skilfully manoeuvre around my natural habitat to maintain my own sanity in the face of two couples co-habiting under the same roof I suffer under.
The kitchen and the bathroom seem to be the ‘hot zones’ where my patience dangerously weaves in and out of their occupation. My dinner sabotaged by their loving displays of conjuring up culinary delights to warm their cockles before copulation. My bathing subject to a hostile takeover as one partner after another stealthily slides under the radar to abort my need for warm water and a de-misted mirror.
My basic rights are under fire! This it seems is a survival story of a single person undergoing an endurance test no Navy seal would pass.
And I have not even touched upon the swift upheaval one experiences when conditions rapidly change – like a cease-fire. It’s an eerie silence before the troops come in.
I open the front door to find that two has become one – there is a sense of quiet and the deception that life has returned back to normal. And then like rapid-fire missiles of conversational chunks I embrace myself to take the hit.
Their barrage of love and gusto brought on by the absence of their other half, I take as body blows anaesthized thankfully by the affects of alcohol.
Temporary relief comes in the form of communication re-established between the two via a mobile phone interruption. But then it is back to action and the urgency is heightened as they unleash yet another tale of wounded emotions from a spurned advance of love or euphoria from a well executed move of commitment.
They are delusional. They’ve been AWOL and have deliriously come back home to a temporary existence of drinking, smoking, and swearing without the threat of their partner putting the alliance in jeopardy.
And as for me, well I feel like I’ve been put on rations. Those nights in where no one is in is scarce. I am adapting and letting go of lamenting about the good ol’ times.
Plus I am doing what any good survivor does – I am preparing my bunker for when times really do get tough. The one place that is still my own is my bedroom. And slowly but surely I acquire the necessary possessions to achieve an indestructible fortress of solace.
If you see a potty by my bed that’s when you know the war has really hit home.
posted by Zap at
9:20 pm
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