After two month of living the high life in my parent’s cozy little house in upstate New York, with a committed slave to wash my clothes, make my dinner, and clean up after me (my mother), I am now back in Squallyoaks, and it’s fucking hell.
I don’t know if it’s because I’ve become accustomed to a life of luxury, or if it’s just that my memory of what our squat used to look like is completely warped, but I swear it was never this bad. The place is a fucking heath hazard. I feel like I’m going to AIDS just looking at the photos of it. There are giant piles of garbage everywhere. Everywhere you go smells like mold. Most of the windows are broken so the entire house is freezing. There are empty tubes of toilet paper with poop on them in a bathroom garbage can from when the toilet paper ran out and people got desperate. It’s like something off Intervention.
And to make the whole situation just that tiny bit easier, in the two months that I was away my sheets, my duvet, my heater and my light bulb were all stolen out of my room. So now my room is basically just a dark, damp, freezing pit of sorrow with a bare mattress lying on the floor in the corner. Also, though I didn’t think it was possible, all the people I live with seem to have grown uglier over the Christmas holiday. Despair. It’s not looking good.
So, in light of this tragedy, after two years of living in the notorious Squallyoaks, I think it’s finally time to say goodbye. For my sanity. At the moment I’m squatting my boyfriend’s bedroom. It’s great. I feel very domesticated. Doing normal people things can be fun- going to the supermarket, taking showers, using toilet paper, opening the refrigerator without having to plug your nose. My eyes have been opened to the wonders of normality, and I like what I see. Now I just have to get a juicer and one of those tiny little phones that fit in your ear so you can have your hands free to make lots of hand gestures while you’re talking, and I’ll be all set.