Disco House Party
After six months of having a housemate, my guest bedroom is free again. It was great fun having Kat here. We got on well, and considering we both prefer to live alone, I think we got on great. But this place is a little small for two people, I am not remotely neat and Kat is, and it was never meant to be a long term arrangement. So last Tuesday she moved into her new place.
It's amazing how quickly I have fallen into secret single behaviours again. Peeing with the bathroom door open. Picking my teeth after a meal. Watching senseless television that a normal person would never own up to. I talk to myself. I read aloud to see what kind of interpretive spin I can add, even if it's only the Financial Times. I recite poetry while I cook. I dance. A lot.
The iPod's been getting a workout, actually. We've got three major projects due this Friday, one of which I shared responsibility for and one of which is my own. And there's a lot going on at work so I've had some freaky hours and been getting a late start on work each night. So I motivate by plugging the monstercables into the iPod and going shuffle crazy to hear what I can hear. What's a girl to do when she's bored senseless by Trucking and Shipping and the theories of Time Compression when Parliament starts chanting, "Tear the roof off the mutha..." or Nausea from the new Beck CD starts a thumpin'? Get off the sofa and shake a tail feather, that's what.
I keep the curtains to the front of the house closed, but the neighbours in the bank can look right in. I'm sure they wonder what the funk is going on over here. We got us some righteous groove going down, my friends. Bust a move, baby. Bust. A. Move.
It's amazing how quickly I have fallen into secret single behaviours again. Peeing with the bathroom door open. Picking my teeth after a meal. Watching senseless television that a normal person would never own up to. I talk to myself. I read aloud to see what kind of interpretive spin I can add, even if it's only the Financial Times. I recite poetry while I cook. I dance. A lot.
The iPod's been getting a workout, actually. We've got three major projects due this Friday, one of which I shared responsibility for and one of which is my own. And there's a lot going on at work so I've had some freaky hours and been getting a late start on work each night. So I motivate by plugging the monstercables into the iPod and going shuffle crazy to hear what I can hear. What's a girl to do when she's bored senseless by Trucking and Shipping and the theories of Time Compression when Parliament starts chanting, "Tear the roof off the mutha..." or Nausea from the new Beck CD starts a thumpin'? Get off the sofa and shake a tail feather, that's what.
I keep the curtains to the front of the house closed, but the neighbours in the bank can look right in. I'm sure they wonder what the funk is going on over here. We got us some righteous groove going down, my friends. Bust a move, baby. Bust. A. Move.
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