The Dream of a Single Family Dwelling

Christ it's late. Damn- ow, fuck, damn, piss, shit.....who left the accordian by the door? Drew had had it with his housemates. Thirty four and living with a rotating menagerie of itinerant artists and gypsies: couchsurfing, subletting, disappearing in the middle of the night with three months back rent owing while abandoning their ailing geriatric cat type of housemates. Sigh. Why did he have to be the repsonsible one? Did you pick up toilet paper, Drew? Did you cash my cheque Drew? Can you not, cause yeah, sorry, it'll bounce. Yeah, ya see, it's about this girl and I lent her my rent money and well, ok, look, I'll get it to you but Thursday, ok? Thanks Drew, you're awesome, Drew. You rock! Six years in and he's the only original left in the house. He can list off the relationships that were born and died, sometimes an awfully painful death under that roof- Natalie, Melissa, Julie, Shane, the girl with the boy's name which his mom thought was just ridiculous. He knows that at some point, yes, he needs to move out. Find his own space. Sign the lease solo for once and wake up in the middle of the night and not have to roll over to find some drunken, passed out, shroomed up roommate asleep upside down in his bed, waggling his reeking feet next to his head. That instigated the locks on the doors talk. Ah, to be master of his own domain. That of course depends entirely on his mastering of his finances and the bartending slash landscaping slash rent a goalie work wasn't going to cut it. His dad keeps offering him a job at the plant but working a line 8 hours a day, 5 days a week gives Drew a massive anxiety attack. Full benefits, a pension, sick days and vacations plus deep discounts on plastic cups, somehow he just can't make the leap .

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