Still sort of functional

Daughter’s 18th (combined with friend; 130 invitees between them, self catering at a function centre) has finished. It was a great success and I’ll write about it later. But right now I am girding my loins up for the fortitude in order to finish a 13 day work cycle, in order to pay for it all, and I suspect that there is going to be little or no spare energy.

There was an incident at the party that I may write about later but the aftermath is also very time consuming. Plus which, I owe emails to all of my friends, I haven’t seen my family in weeks and I’ve just been asked to consider a rather nice job. There’s boyfriend as well and I just don’t have enough time to devote to him in the way that I used to; I think he feels it because we met in my off work season and I have much less free time to pander to him and his schedule these days. I feel so much like I am being stretched too thin.

The girls have gone back to stay with their father and I am actually glad. It wasn’t a birthday day so much as a week and there were countless teenagers dropping in and sleeping over and eating all my fridge and alienating my house. When I woke up I was never sure of who would be home or who would be extra. This morning I woke up to two extras in the place; both teenage boys, one of whom was sleeping on the couch and the other in my daughter’s bed.

She said to me, accusingly, tonight: “Ian (her platonic male friend) thought that you didn’t like him. What did you do to make him think that?”. Apparently he was quite upset.

Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps it was the cigarette butts he scattered on my manicured front foliage. Or possibly the fact that he left the toilet seat up. Maybe the fact that he thought it an acceptable thing to go out into my unit gardens when he wanted to pee?

Nope. None of those. To be fair, I mentioned those things to Em and she passed them on. The rest of it, the reek of testosterone and self worth, comes naturally to that male age group and I wouldn’t judge on that. He stopped the activities that the old lady mafia who live in this complex would object to. I didn’t hold any bad feeling.

But this morning he woke me up at 4 am. By his moans, in his sleep. As he was dry humping the couch.

I don’t dislike him at all but it is very hard to ever again look straight in the eye at someone who you know who has a passion for your furniture. I just kept on cracking up and so I didn’t look at him at all, hence the dislike impression.

But tell me: would it make him feel better to know the real reason I appear distant?

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