Partly because I'm working on a few other projects that might actually make me some money (up to and including ten bob and a toffee apple) and partly because I've had someone staying here for a week due to circumstances beyond his control. Well, circumstances beyond not being thrown out of his house by an Aspergers-suffering dick (the two are not connected).
When I first moved into this house I shared it with a friend (Benfans of old - yes, THAT one) until he decided to move out to his own place after two years. Initially I took it quite hard as it had never really occurred to be until then at the rum age of 28 that I had never actually lived alone. With family, friends, partners, yes but alone? Somehow it just never came to be. Is this down to being a frankly electric personality people cant bear to be without on a daily basis? Or more likely am I just a giant mooching nonsense with a good CD collection and the ability not to whip my penis out in the living room? Who can say?
Reading back over some old blog entries as part of one of the projects i'm undertaking, I was surprised at how fearful and unhappy I was over the thought of solo living. Here in 2012 I couldn't cope with anything else. Yes, I love my long-term girlfriend and we always spend weekends and holidays together but to know that either can escape to our own world and not listen to the other one and their STUPID FUCKING FACE.
Ahem. I love you baby.
But its fair to say I've got used to being in my own company being able to listen to what I want or stay up without bothering anyone or openly masturbate on the middle of the Town Hall steps. Ok, that last one might be more of an issue....but you get the general gist I'm sure.
Now my friend has gone and everything's back to normal which for a manic depressive with "creative tendencies" may be for better or worse. It was nice having someone here for a bit of a change, but its nicer still now he's fucked off. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a Town Hall to desecrate...
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