waking hours background information
Me and Housemate G haven't exactly been getting on recently. For something like the last six months. A keen historian might notice a link between the time this started and the time that he met his now ex-girlfriend, J, who quickly became my best girl friend. Note the space between 'girl' and 'friend'. So we live together but trying to get a conversation from him is monosyllabic at best. I'm moving out next week but up until now we have been tolerating each other with a black cloud of tension hanging over any room that we're both in - tension entirely from him, I might add. I've been nice and doing the usual stuff that I'd do for anyone. For example, if I'm going to wash some clothes and he's left some of his in the machine, I'll peg them out for him rather than leave them in the wash out-basket, damp. Stuff like that. But somehow I've become the Housemate From Hell. Any 'hoo'...
mid-afternoon sleeping after a heavy night of booze
G was getting his shoes on to go up to J's house and he gave me a dagger-filled stare as I came in the kitchen. As usual I asked him what was up, and as usual he mumbled a "Nuthin'...". Unusually, this time I just hit the roof. I went nuts and started shouting at him big time. Asking why if nothing is up, why does he look as if he wants to kill me most of the time while peppering my questions with cursing and punching the air with anger.
This carried on. He left and I chased him up the road to J's house, demanding to have my questions answered. J wasn't happy at all, having a full-blown row going on in her living room which calmed my tone of voice down while still wanting an explanation for G's "childish and fucking stupid problems". Still nothing much in the way of a response and I gave up. I threw my hands in the air and tutted at him, leaving by the front door.
But. Across the street was a park bench that was never there before. Sitting on it was my mum and sister while a fat guy with a hot-dog stand and a moustache stood behind them, offering them dry pizza bases with spoonfuls of my home-made chili on them. I stood and watched while G and J came to see too, neither my mother or sister acknowledged my presence, they just kept eating these triangles of chili pizza while talking amongst each other. The guy grinned and winked at me.
I put my hands on my hips, turned to G and said:
"This is a fucking dream, isn't it?"
G nodded and smiled a smile that said 'Yep. And now I'll have an apology if you don't mind'. I sat down on the step, sighed and disappeared, leaping from one plain of consciousness back to my bed, eyes wide open and confused - spending a couple of minutes wondering if what happened really had just happened, caught in limbo betweeen my surreal dream-world and cold, harsh reality. Aah. Melodrama. :)
Don't you just hate it when that happens?