It’s somewhat chilling to be the only one in the house sometimes. Ever since all of my housemates moved out a couple of weeks ago, I’ve been the only one in my share-house. The other rooms in the five-bedroom residence are all empty and the only trace of life comes from my room. My room is situated on one extreme of the house, the side nearest to the street. If anyone decides to pay me a visit, they’ll be able to see at first glance whether the house was occupied.
But, like most other things, I got used to it. I suppose the bonuses are that the house stays relatively clean (since I’m not one to make a huge mess and not clean it up — excluding my bedroom), and I can play as loud music as I wish. The neighbours don’t complain: the house has excellent soundproofing and all that is heard outside is a muffled and dull noise.
I’m living in a world of my own, where there is no outside influence. Everything that I left behind a few minutes ago will be exactly as I remembered it when I visit them again. The dishes from Sunday night will still be in the sink, waiting for me to go over them (eventually). The floors will still be pristine and clean, and the unused dinner tables are spotless.
Alcoholic drinks appear in my fridge, seemingly at random. Just now, I had discovered a half-full box of white wine. Normally I don’t drink the stuff: most white wines taste like vinegar to me. I’m not one to pass up a good opportunity, however. I need the chemical rush, especially since the university cafeteria’s run out of it’s stock of energy drink. I think I’ve got half of this semester’s stock sitting on my bedroom shelf. It makes an impressive-looking collection.
Speaking of impressive collections, I went through the back garden on Sunday afternoon. I knew that occasionally there’d be the odd ball or so that had been lost over the fence, since the next door neighbours have a couple of kids who love either kicking a football around or throwing tennis balls all over the place. That afternoon I combed through the garden patch and managed to find no less than twenty balls of varying sizes and descriptions. I don’t think I managed to get everything as well. Just as I thought there couldn’t possibly be any more lost balls in the garden, I’d find a couple of decript old tennis balls, or a battered softball lying under the lemon tree, or round the other side of the house. I’m presuming that somewhere there’s a kid who’s bought a lot of tennis balls over the years after losing them over the fence to my house’s garden.
Anyway, I dug them all out and put them in the middle of the back lawn. That day, the kids from next door came round to fetch a ball that they had just sent over the fence. I told them that if any of the balls on the lawn were theirs, they could have them back if they wanted.
They were kids. They took them all.
Posted by Dan @ 02:54 PM AST [Link]
Replies: 2 comments
It always comes back to haunt me.
Posted by Dan @ 10/16/2002 03:35 PM AST
Dan fears Karma.
Posted by Edo @ 10/15/2002 04:05 PM AST