Having to been to a good friend's abode, I got in at about one o'clock. I checked my emails, checked the forum, put some music on and then felt inspired to play the guitar. Given it's a (to some) silly hour in the morning, I was playing my electric guitar with headphones in; my bedroom door was closed. I was playing for a good fifty minutes too.
Enter the fucking bastard. I hear my door open, look, then take off my headphones. Before me I see a woman nearly fifty with hair looking almost like Emmet Brown's and drooped cheekbones like a sad looking dog. She then gets serious. In her own little world she's the boss of physics and time as we know it. How dare I play my guitar the quietest it'll go for almost an hour undetected, but then suddenly be heard apparently on televisions, radios, morse code machines, ice cream van chimes and even a sign on the bloody moon. Yes, that is very loud. That's what she heard in her custom built world where everything's right as soon as she says it is. I, on the other hand, heard the noise from the headphones only.
It seems the pranging of the strings on its own was reason to get out of bed and have a go at me. After the dust settled and she shut her mouth, I said "alright", with an intonation of "why the fuck have you stormed into my room and acted like I've just killed everyone you've ever loved". She wasn't happy. I wish I could've squeezed in "unfortunately" at the end of that sentence, but it's beyond that. 90% of the grief she thinks I give her, she manufactures herself. If I'm out until three in the morning, she's waiting until three in the morning for me to get in the house, even though she's in fucking bed. If my room's untidy, the whole house needs hosing down because it's allegedly caked in my ironing that's not been put away.
So, I think I can justify calling this blog "Fuck You", because as far as I can see, I'm not that far wrong, am I?
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