People Hurt Me

We have visitors in our kitchen. They invited themselves. They ate the leftover dinner that I was planning to take for my lunch at work tomorrow. They are eating my living space.

They’re a married couple, with a bunch of kids, a messy unhygienic house, and woe. Lots of woe.

They keep making lame jokes, that are so tragically unfunny.

The lady-figure came into my room while I was sitting here browsing web-comics. She starts talking to me, even though I am being deliberately unsociable. I stopped what I was doing, but kept the MacBook in my lap. I didn’t want to be rude, but I didn’t want to be encouraging either.

So she starts talking incessantly about her daughter, and her femininity, social life, and education: things that I do not, and will not EVER give a flying fuck about. She’s one of those people who needs active responses, or otherwise she just keeps saying your name until you say something of relevance.

She is like an over-excited parrot, except I’m the one stuck in the cage, listening to her squawk, unable to fly the fuck away.

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2 responses to this post.

  1. it’s about time your still writing Van, where you been!?

    Reply

  2. Sorry Paul! Life has been entirely hectic since Christmas… and is continuing to be so. Will be updating more frequently soon!

    Reply

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