Each day a new battle arises and each day sacrifices must be made for the greater good of keeping the peace. Here follows part one of the story of the fight against silver-spoon fed brats with their heads in the clouds, buns in the butter and absolutely not a clue that an entire world exists just beyond the thick haze of weed and booze from which they crawl every afternoon to inhabit the couch for a while, party until all ungodly hours (just long and late enough to ensure nobody in the house gets to sleep until sunrise) and then return to their dens mere minutes before the sun rises and turns them all to stone.
Such is the standard daily experience when you choose to live with a houseful of strangers. There's always a little gremlin or two in the mix. I suppose to make us grateful for everything else we have. Or to teach us patience. Or battle strategies... I'm not really sure. Either way, grrrrrrr. In my case, there are two gremlins. Let's call them the problem children (they're still teenagers, it's entirely accurate). If this were Survivor, they would have been the first two to hear the words "The tribe has spoken." Sadly, this is not. We cannot vote them off the island, nor can we kick them out of the house or send them to the naughty corner (apparently those don't apply to children these days). These problem children are of a special variety. They have no apparent understanding of what it takes to function in society. They do not grasp the concept of possession. To them it's much the same as it is for a toddler:
Thus there is no such thing as having your own anything here. They are also apparently unaware of pretty much any other rule or consideration that most people learn from the age of 5, including (but not limited to): how to switch off a television (that damn power button is so incredibly complicated to figure out), what Sunlight is or how it's used (our kitchen resembles Dresden by the end of every weekend - it would appear that it is completely unreasonable to expect people to clear the leftover food off their plates before tossing them in the sink for someone else to wash), the concept of silence, personal space or the idea that people might need to sleep every night (it's 11pm and there's a sing-along session happening outside my window as I write this) or the absolute no-brainer of never inviting your dealer to your house - because then they know where you live. Rookie error... C'mon guys.
Every day in this house brings me closer to the conviction that Darwin was entirely right about evolution. I mean, how can I argue against it when two perfect examples are laid out in all their slothful glory on the couches in the living room? Sometimes I wonder if hitting them with a rock would make the situation better (I know, at the very least, it would make me feel so much better). I mean, a hard blow to the head can turn a perfectly decent human being into a scoundrel or a vegetable. So surely if they already are in such a state the blow might possibly have the reverse effect? I reckon that the shock of the impact might activate any dormant brain cells that haven't yet been drowned or suffocated in an intoxicating (and probably illegal) substance. If there are no surviving brain cells, the blow will have no effect, so either way - no harm no foul...
What it usually comes down to is a serious choice between teaching them human and the all important preservation of sanity. A sort of "What would Hamlet do?" moment. For example, do I lie here and try to fall asleep despite the full volume conversation (about nothing in particular) that is happening almost right outside my door? Or do I go through the fruitless exercise of getting out of bed (which wakes me up), opening my door, offering them a few choice words (the gist of which is "Shut up") and going back to bed, and then lying wide awake listening to them talk anyway? It's fun (I say sarcastically).
Anyway, if I give you anything more specific than this, you might require witness protection, so for now I'm signing off. Until next time...
Quote for the day:
"Be the person your dog thinks you are." - Mugg and Bean coffee coaster.
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