When mice hatch from sausages

So I’ve completed Ellen’s narrative, now I have to switch to the third person free indirect style, from the perspective of an innocent paedophile (you need Nabokov to explain this). Difficult but it needs to work. It’s only now that I kind of recall certain events on which my concepts are based on. But you rewrite everything in a way that it appears to be new like an original idea, but actually you have witnessed something in the past and you realise that your imagination is somewhat connected to the jelly in you. And over the years you attempt to harden up the jelly. It takes time.
I don’t know what’s going on, but I haven’t received my thesis results like everyone else. And Maria, the secretary is ignoring my emails. However, before I get them, I’d like to have the novel finished…in case of demoralization when reading Goldsmiths’ uber-critical comments.

Having worked for almost two months, I must say I have adapted myself quite well despite certain levels of hectic within the working environment. People are starting to let me “in” due to my integration and because I’m an early bird. I feel a lot more comfortable now.
I have noticed certain factors which are generally related to human relationships, no matter if friends, collaborators, partners or whatever, when it comes to money, you realise that a certain extent of discretion is required.
This is why you NEVER ask a friend to lend you money and you never lend money to them.

Business, eh?

How despicable this word is, I have learnt a lot in the last two months – from being scammed to being sincerely hired. I thought I had my own rules for the survival game, but when it comes to earning money, there are more rules to be added to the game. (Note that rules are ok when they are set by you.) The good thing is that you’re not required to be insincere, you just shut your mouth and I have no problems with that. As you know, I shut my mouth about a lot of things. And if I do say something, it always comes out the wrong way. (You remember my blog on Lars.)
Sometimes I know what people want to hear, but I just won’t say it. If I feel like deceiving them I pretend we share the same opinion and they’ll be like: “You and I are the same!”

Yes. We are sooo similar.

Is that the novelty of blending in, Dexter? Quite useful sometimes, isn’t it? Unlike you, I don’t want to be like them.
They call a “loner” but this word derives from “lonely”, so don’t fucking call me that.

I admit I have been very selfish lately; been treating my friends terribly. They invite me, I decline them. They text me, I ignore them. I need to keep in mind that when declining them, I shouldn’t give reasons. Whenever I give reasons I seem to be dragging them down with me.
The room in my life has become so small, I can’t even fit myself in, let alone a friend? I need more room.
I understand they all want to talk, but the thing with me is – I don’t. That’s the problem. You know what it’s like being around people with whom you cannot be who you are. They don’t realise that they have a problem with who you are. They might accept you for who you are, but they don’t like it and they will ask you to make an exception for at least a day. For instance, a friend invites you to her wedding, despite knowing you hate ceremonies like that. And they ask you to pull a happy face for at least a day. And it’s difficult, horribly difficult. In order to stop you from calling me selfish: I went to the wedding, but not more needs to be said. I will not attend any other ones, not even my own.

The power of green tea has saved my life, at least in the last two months. However, the angry sentiments have returned. And I knew they would. I clench my fists for no particular reason. No matter what I do to become a better person to myself, I seem to grow immune to all those…good drugs; my conscience does, if I still remember how it functions. Everything loses effect – so quickly. With me in particular. It’s as if this horrible thing can’t wait to salute me for real.

I was flat hunting again and surprisingly found something really fast.
There’s no way I’m going to extend my current contract. Landlady was having a massive argument with her son the other week – and this seems to happen frequently. Apart from that, she has her granddaughter over every damn weekend. She was squealing like a pig the other week; I have no idea what she was crying about, but a kid’s cry is so haunting. Besides, I envy them too much to be around them.
However, when my landlady and her son were arguing downstairs, I went to the bathroom and saw the girl in my landlady’s room. She was sad. In fact, I don’t hate her that much. I just prefer her quiet.
But there are several other reasons why I just do not wish to extend my contract. She turns small talk into small talk “conversation”. If the sun’s shining, she’d go on about the sun shine yesterday or last week, last month. Sun will probably shine tomorrow too or next weekend.
A conversation that can be short and simple becomes 30min. I can’t take it any longer. Even if it’s just once or twice a week.
I’d rather you enquire about my sex life. Or how about you tell me what you and your son always argue about?
Also, every month I have to ask her to top up my metre for electricity. Every time it shows“40pence left”, I get nervous about the food in my fridge. And she would say it’s enough for another day and a half.
So she’s only going to top up once the metre has gone CLICK? Yes. That happened over a week ago. And she was not in. I was sitting in the dark, typing until my laptop battery went off. This made me feel more horrible about my life than I already did.

I wish I had the money to live on fucking own. Give me some space. How much I love my friends, I have to admit I am glad to be on my own. Sometimes instead of going for a coffee with someone, I’d rather walk through the cemetery and steal beautiful names in order to create a new life for them…in a story. Not even writers would understand this.

From next month, I will be living with a quiet landlord with a strange personality, but he is reliable, quiet and clean – there is nothing more I look for in a flat mate. He says he is hardly ever home. And when he is I’ll only get to see him in the kitchen. I like the sound of it.

You’re anxious that I chose to live with a man, who, on the behavioural level is similar to me? Well, it was either him or extend contract with my current landlady who has started praying hysterically every morning like a madwoman. If God was the truth, why would people constantly call it The Ugly Truth?

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