The loud lives of layabouts

The temperature is soaring again, even to that horrid point where I feel like I’m suffocating. Not nice. Plus, well, the hotter the weather the louder my neighbours get. Who knows what the connection is.

As predicted, the smart meter engineer couldn’t get into the electrics box downstairs again, so I’m still on my old key system. He was a nice chap, who I really felt like I could open up to. And he was only in my home for about 5 minutes. Maybe it was because I’m so attention-starved these days.

I’ve been drinking a lot, with brief periods of sobriety. Not sure what I’ll be doing today. I woke up for breakfast at 8 pm, so at least I’ll spend most of my waking hours in the cool of the night when everyone else on the street has gone to bed.

I’m getting hundreds of views a day over at The Whittling Post, but very few post-specific ones. So just “front page” views. Who knows whether they’re actual people or just AI bots scanning my hard work. At least it’s up from single digits, like here.

Been watching a YouTube channel where a Russian family film their daily goings on. The eldest son is very loud and abrasive, with absolutely no interest in keeping his camera still for one-damn-second, but the laconic father seems to understand the language of cinema. They appear to live in a beautiful detached mansion, including all the mod-cons, amidst lush, sprawling grounds. I thought everyone was poor over there! Just goes to show what b.s. propaganda we’re fed. Often, the eldest brother films his two little brothers doing back-breaking labour in the garden, with me wondering why the older one doesn’t just put his phone down and help out.

Perhaps the monetisation brings in some extra cash for the family to boost their meagre crabapple income.

The sores on my back persist, although I have purchased a couple of pain relief gels to try out. They appear to be working. The sores aren’t too bad today though, so maybe I won’t need to apply any.

That sense of dread persists too, but I’m sure that’s just the booze. There isn’t much on the horizon to stay sober for.

Somebody keeps trying to call me, but I’m not answering. It looks like a national number, so I’m guessing it’s the energy company trying to rearrange the smart meter installation. I’ll have a think about whether to bother picking up tomorrow.

Why can’t people just leave me alone?!

“The Whistler” downstairs has been relatively quiet. “Loud Phone Lady” next door has started shouting at her pet again, so I think she’s back on the bottle. “Obnoxious Camp Guy” is still making sure the street knows how obnoxious and camp he is (see video below). I think “Crazy Bin Lady” on the ground floor is one of his gal-pals, so she’s been over at his this evening cackling mindlessly at his crap.

Hmm, I wonder why I don’t have any friends.

I had a wank before getting up, as the pressure was stating to build. The longer I leave it the duller the orgasm, so it’s best to keep squirting as often as possible!

On a completely unrelated note, I’ve ran out of margarine so am using olive oil. I’ve got these flat, shallow, plate-sized bowls that I use for meals, but now I’m pouring the oil into one to soak toast in. It works really well, actually. Wondering whether to just do this for a while, rather than stocking up on spread.

Exciting stuff, huh?

Right, I best go soak my aching limbs in the tub. Filled with water, not olive oil! Although…

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!

The waiting is the worst part

The booze has continued to flow since my last post, although it has officially stopped being fun. I’m definitely in.a grim headspace today. I’m not sure where my sleep pattern is now, as I went to bed at 2 pm yesterday and got up for my “morning” coffee around 11 pm. Perhaps more booze will correct it.

The smart meter installation is due to take place somewhere between 10 am and 2 pm later, which I hope goes painlessly. I still need to tidy up the kitchen, as there are empty beer cans covering much of one surface. And the top of the microwave. I’m not particularly “house proud”.

I’ll hold fire on the bottle until it’s all over. Think I’ll need to set up an account on the energy company’s app, so that’ll require sobriety. I’m a technophobe at the best of times.

Feeling a sense of dread, which I could really do without. Guess it’s the wine and cider. Managed a wank before I got out of bed though. Squirted all over my tummy. Today’s fantasy involved a teen lad going round to hang out with the boy-next-door. Things descend after they retire upstairs to the boy’s bedroom. His mum watches the kinky proceedings for a bit, until she decides that maybe three’s a crowd.

“The Whistler” downstairs is definitely still a free man, although he’s being mercifully quiet right now. I’m sure his ranting and raving and home trashing will proceed soon enough.

I’m not joking, he literally just started banging doors after I finished the above paragraph.

Good grief.

Those sores on my back persist, so they mustn’t be to do with my skin rubbing against the damp sheets in bed. Surely they would heal within 24 hours, if so. Hmm, this can’t be good. If it’s cancer, I just hope it takes me quickly. I haven’t got anything to fight for anymore.

The temperature has dropped enough that i’ve been able to shut windows, thus allowing me a bit of peace and quiet. Due to the constantly revolving community of tenants and the council’s need to prepare properties for new arrivals, the estate is like a building site most of the time. It’s best avoided if you have problems with anxiety, as I do.

Can’t imagine why I drink so much.

Had a cute new supermarket delivery driver yesterday. He has two kids of his own, so I didn’t bother trying to flirt. Not that I’m good at that sort of thing anyway. I usually come up with decent things to say long after they’re gone.

Well, I best go scrub off the filth and start tidying the kitchen.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!

Brothers, sisters, paranoid schizophrenics

I now have a digital phone line, which I assume is really a microphone that the government can switch on whenever they see fit. Not that I’m a paranoid conspiracy theorist, or anything. The engineer was nice enough, but he did bugger off for a 2-hour lunch before finishing. Having been awake for 24 hours when he turned up, I really could have done without him prolonging the nightmare in such a manner. But, hey, at least it’s out of the way now.

Needless to say, I hit the bottle afterwards, which I felt I really deserved.

Now I just have the smart meter installation on Friday to get through. I’m sure it will be just as much, if not more, of a tortuous experience as the phone guy. I keep reminding myself that it will mean I never have to leave my home ever again, but I’m still not 100% sure they’ll be able to get it sorted. The last time someone tried to instal smart meters they couldn’t access the wiring downstairs, but maybe things have changed now.

We shall see…

I have a minor hangover today, but nothing bad enough to keep me in bed. It’s more of a “background radiation” hangover. At least I got a good night’s sleep, however lacking in nutrition a drunken sleep is.

I posted the first chapter of a new serialised story over at The Whittling Post in the early hours of yesterday. I’m not terribly proud of it, but I kept forgetting that, whilst I’d plotted the whole thing out in my head, I hadn’t actually written it down yet. My bad. I’ve got every inch of the protagonist’s apartment planned out, for no good reason at all. That’s not really how you should approach the writing of prose. I guess I did it to help me escape my own grim circumstances.

A very unique form of meditation indeed.

I’ve been watching a YouTube channel capturing the cute relationship between a little French boy and his teenage sister. I guess she could be his girlfriend, as it is France after all. Who knows what they get up to over there. Still, their mundane antics are putting a smile on my face, which doesn’t happen very often these days.

It’s much cooler today, with ominous grey clouds and a tumultuous breeze. Fingers crossed rain is on the way to wash the neighbours off the street. Hot weather seems to power their antisocial antics.

“The Whistler” downstairs has calmed down after his recent violent tantrums. He was shouting racial abuse at a neighbour yesterday, so I wonder whether someone has taken him away to look after. I do not believe he has control over his behaviour, but I feel his recent episodes are stepping out of the “care in the community” remit.

Basically, he is fast becoming a danger to himself and others.

My friend “Lesbo Lisa” finally got back in touch last night. I was texting her in a panic when the phone engineer wandered off to the pub for ages. Her texts are few and far between, but I keep reminding myself that she actually has a life. I just sit around all day freaking out about anything and everything.

Think I’ll go for my bath soon, then maybe have a hair of the dog. I’m not sure. About either. I suppose I can manage until the smart meter installation is done to hit the bottle again.

Or not.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles! 

Dead calm on stormy seas

I’ve been crying this morning, but for no apparent reason. Such is the lot of a person with clinical depression.

I keep imagining myself being interrogated by the police for an unspecified crime, Franz Kafka-style. They keep asking me questions, but won’t tell me why.

The paranoid schizophrenic downstairs, whom I have nicknamed: “The Whistler”, has been having frequent violent tantrums over the past 24 hours. He screams and shouts at invisible persecutors as he bangs doors and smashes objects. I fear he will be the literal death of me, should I encounter him in the stairwell.

This building is a madhouse. There’s no “like a” about it.

I have that telephone engineer coming tomorrow and the smart meter installation on Friday, so I will be getting drunk Friday evening. Very drunk. Cross-over-into-another-dimension drunk. Wish I could now, but I need to prepare my home for intimidating workmen to stomp around in it.

One could argue I should be drunk for these events, but hey-ho.

The temperature has shot back up again, so I’m not in the best of moods due to that. A fly kept attacking me while I was trying to quietly make a sandwich earlier. I lost my temper and screamed at it to leave me alone. I suppose this makes me no more sane than “The Whistler”.

My friend “Lesbo Lisa” hasn’t texted me back in a few days, which is making me anxious. Perhaps I have finally scared her off, just like all the others. Perhaps she has found out that I refer to her as “Lesbo Lisa” and is offended.

It is honestly meant as a term of endearment.

I don’t know why I am trying to analyse why I am feeling so down today, as inconsistent emotions are my stock in trade. I’m sure my mood will pick up at some random point later on. Maybe I should go have a lie down and try for a wank. I’m not sure what will turn me on today, so that’ll be a quest of self-discovery.

As usual.

I’ve had some shopping delivered. The delivery boy was cute, but he didn’t say much. I now leave it up to them to start a conversation, as I assume they hear the same crap at every stop. I don’t like it when they comment on what they can see within my flat, but what else are they supposed to do when they’re stood at the door awkwardly waiting for me to unpack?

I was going to put an exclamation mark there, just after the question mark, but I don’t feel like being so assertive right now.

There’s a lot of noise in the building and out, but the world feels eerily quiet. I’m sure it’s a subjective thing.

Who knows what the tide will bring in.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles

Pain, pleasure, and pastimes

I am very relieved to announce that the temperature has finally dropped considerably. I just couldn’t take anymore days of suffocating humidity. It’s still not cool enough to crawl under the many layers I have on my bed, but at least we’re now experiencing sensible summer temperatures. It’s like when a neighbour listens to music at a sociable volume - you still don’t enjoy their taste in music, but at least it’s not invading your, erm, personal ear space.

I had a panic attack about the telephone company when I woke up this morning, which I could have done without, but a quick wank cleared my mind and enabled me to get up and start brewing my morning cafetière of coffee. Today’s fantasy featured a guy helping his younger brother lose his virginity by allowing him to have sex with his older brother’s willing girlfriend.

It was cute, but figuring out the grammar for the above synopsis was not.

At 2 am this morning, there was a strange altercation between two men outside. FYI this is not another sex fantasy. They both sounded drunk or high and were casually walking down the street chatting. Suddenly, one of the men threw something then ran off. The other man, confused, just said: “Why did he do that?! Weird!”, then wandered off humming to himself. You tell me. I’ve officially given up trying to work out what the people around here are up to.

Speaking of which, “Barking Dog Man” and “Obnoxious Camp Guy” were just having a friendly conversation outside. Now, bear in mind, they were about thirty yards apart, so they were having to shout. Great, two of the most annoying people on the street engaged in a shouting match. Just what you need on a quiet Saturday afternoon!

I might put an extra ticket on tonight’s lottery.

I managed to write a review-that’s-not-a-review-but-really-is article about the film Robot Monster for The Whittling Post before bed last night, which I’m quite proud of. Those posts generally do get quite a lot of views, so at least I’m pleasing somebody in this life.

I have something of a headache this morning, which I’m wondering whether is to do with the release in air pressure. I’ve also got itchy and painful sores on my back, just below my right shoulder, which don’t seem to be going away. I initially assumed they were to do with my skin rubbing against the damp summer perspiration towels I put down on my bed at night (gross, huh?), but now I’m not so sure. If it’s skin cancer, I won’t be seeking treatment. I’ll just hope it finishes me off sooner rather than later.

I might order a takeaway later. I’ve inadvertently started using Food Hub, which I thought was one restaurant’s own website. I thought this because the entire link is the restaurant’s name, so not “Food-Hub-slash-Restaurant-Name”. Know what I mean? Anyway, I hope FH isn’t as hated as Just Eat, which seemed to just be screwing everyone over. When a company shuts down its customer helpline, then you know something’s wrong.

The cooler weather means I’m able to play more than just two races in GTA Online without my console overheating, so that makes a nice change from playing only Downwell and Trials Fusion over and over again. My deteriorating eyesight means there aren’t many games I can use nowadays, which is as depressing as it sounds.

I’ve just had my toast therapy and am now due a bath. The day is racing along at a brisk pace, which is unusual.

I shall leave you all to the rest of your weekends.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!

The illusion of convenience

Well, that missed parcel problem sorted itself out. As it turns out, my postman left it with a neighbour downstairs, but Royal Mail’s ”new and improved” card-with-no-information-on-it didn’t mention that. So, I put it to you, patient reader, which would have been simpler:

Writing my neighbour’s flat number on a detailed card.

OR

Taking out a phone > turning the phone on > typing in the phone’s passcode > opening the company app > scanning the missed parcel card’s barcode > selecting what’s going to be done with the parcel > typing in my neighbour’s flat number > confirming the action > closing that item screen > closing the app > turning off the phone > putting the phone back in its pocket.

You tell me, but I have an idea.

Sadly, this all means that my gossiping neighbours now all know my full name. Uh oh. I’m off most social media, but I have mentioned my name over at The Whittling Post in the last year or so. I’ve now gone through and removed those references, just in case. I could really do without my neighbours knowing my intimate thoughts and feelings.

Including what turns me on, in the form of my erotic short fiction.

So, yes, I now have two sets of digital phone equipment for the engineer to instal on Monday. Sigh. I’ll let him pick and choose which one he wants to use and ask him nicely to return the other one to his employers. We shall see.

I made that pesto pasta, although it accidentally became more elaborate than I intended it to be. There’s now a massive tub of pasta with pesto and ham and sweetcorn and cheese and spices in the fridge. I wish I could stick to my simpler plans!

I still have my monthly Audible audiobook credit to use up. I’ve not felt very inspired to read of late, probably due to my prolonged patch of alcoholism. Maybe I’ll go fiction this time. Any recommendations? Nothing too heavy though. I am a big softy, after all.

No drop in temperature, unfortunately. In fact, even the breeze has now dissipated. “Barking Dog Man” still resides downstairs, as he’s currently baring his dipshit dub-step crap at full volume.

No wanks. Just random anxiety attacks.

What’s the point of it all, huh?

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!