homeless and melancholy... (sippy cups, anyone?)

i was homeless last week, for the first time in my life. truly nowhere to call my own. that is not to say i had nowhere to go - friends will always have couches. but to feel unsettled and to live out of a bag, and to have to conquer one's own arrogance in order to ask for help (and then to deflect the inevitable probing Why?) is not a situation i would ever like to be in again. even before i moved back to my parents (and yes, it is a tragic inevitability to face when one's own independence stumbles and crashes face first into the pavement), whilst not feeling at peace in a house cohabitating with a depressive, a hippie and a whore, i had a home to call my own.

i have slept on stretchers, couches, floors, curled up in the inordinately miniscule confines of my passenger seat, but always i knew that when the storm blew itself out (and with my mother's pandering passivity it always did), my life would return to its regularly scheduled programming.

living as i am as a roaming burden on humanity, i am starting to hate trains. commuting is horrible, and whilst i am becoming an unwilling expert on the city's public transport system, i begin to understand anarchy more and more. stupid trains. stupid. all of them.

in the mean time, i take a certain satisfaction that the house i left voluntarily is finally revolting. my replacement, prewarned against his cohabitant's predatic and phagocytic nature, has demonstrated his inherent character weakness and succumbed. the remaining two moralists are in hiding, sharpening their weapons for the inevitable face-off. this is something i'd love to see, if i am still considered an ally after pulling a mussolini-style retreat.

the house i was expelled from, however, is treating its geriatric inhabitant to a display of neonatal behaviour. making a grown man write out rules for living is a strange dogma to adhere to. don't even mention afternoon naps with blankies. i'm just waiting for the sippy cups.

life is strange.