Tuesday, December 22, 2015

Can't we be together separately???

Apparently, art is driven by misery. At least in me. Well, maybe not art, but writing. Blog writing. Right now I am traveling and absolutely disconsolate so I shall seize the moment.

When I wrote "I have trust issues about guest rooms," little did I know I would be staying in one a mere few weeks later wishing I were using the experience as research for my post.

Everything wrong on this trip

-- Auditory Assault:
This house has ZERO insulation.

NONE. I can hear every conversation regardless of where it is happening, how loud it is or how many closed doors exist between me and those talking. The next door neighbor's dog sounds like it's on my lap. I can hear people peeing in bathrooms way at the other end of the house and then zipping up their pants. I swear I just heard someone tie their shoelaces.

My first night here, I bolted upright at 3am when I thought I heard a large rat in the wall scrambling furiously to get out.

Know what it was?

Someone unraveling the toilet paper roll.

Evidently, the bathroom is right next door to me and the toilet paper happens to be mounted on the same wall that my (shitty little) guest bed leans against and somehow, when I was torn from sleep by odd, muffled pawing noises in the wall, it took me a few to get my bearings. No, it was not an angry rodent trapped inside the sheetrock. It was just someone who drank a little too much water before bedtime.
I can also hear every conversation happening in the house at once. And noisy games of pool. Comedy channels.  Christmas songs blaring out of two hateful radios (one is not enough). And more: appliances running, dishes clanking, people hocking up lugies, phone conversations, bathroom habits, video games... absolutely nothing is private, concealed or sacred.

This isn't a house, it's a TENT. Do not be fooled.

I haven't slept in days.

--  No Room in the Guest Room:
Not really where I am but close enough.
There isn't a single clear surface in this guest room.
Right now I am typing on a laptop which is precariously balanced on a stack of papers. My glass of water is 4 feet away (there is no closer option) in a tiny clear area of about 3 inches between a broken, fluorescent light, two discarded monitors, a picture of Jesus, and a Mayan sandstone bowl with Christmasy red and green penises adorning the outside and stuffed with a tiny snowman.

I didn't realize the Mayans celebrated Christmas.

Or penises.

(Scratch that... all cultures probably celebrated penises.)

-- No Boundaries:
Someone nearly walked in on me when I was about to change my maxipad because NO ONE understands that you're not supposed to knock on the door AS YOU'RE ENTERING. Doors separate things! Respect the door!!

-- No Downtime:
No one in this house seems to need personal space. Doesn't anyone want to curl up in a corner and read, for chrissake? We have been interacting for the last 12 hours. Isn't that enough? Now you want to play a game, too?? I didn't grow up with 15 siblings and I'm not used to this level of togetherness!
From Dr. Carmella's Guide to Understanding the Introverted

As I am typing, I am glancing at the clock, relieved bedtime will soon be here and I just heard someone announce "Let's watch a movie!!"


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