Rent or Torment

My laptop has fallen victim to an untimely disease: old age. The poor soul to be taken too soon, has seen better days. Now near the end of its lifespan, it is only a matter of time before it takes its last breath and joins all my deceased Nokias and Tamagotchis that have gone before it. Maybe in its next life it could play to its strengths, and be reincarnated as a refrigerator.

Nowadays it is known to act up. The battery on it has already bid farewell to this cruel world, the hard drive has for all intents and purposes passed away, and the keys of the keyboard are so faded that I feel like I'm relearning the alphabet on a biweekly basis. It has lost all of its independence. It is like a spoilt, overindulged toddler these days needing constantly to be spoon-fed, consistently demanding what's left of my patience. I could realistically start applying for some assistance for it, a patch up job, but I've chosen to allow it go with some remaining integrity. Especially considering it has taken what's left of mine. 


( Picture via Kezj.com )
Lately, leaving it unattended results in a sea of pop up ads, the majority of them featuring a loud, phony pre-recorded sales pitch, explaining how simple it is for me to make millions if I surrender my credit card details immediately.

So, yesterday my landlord called for the rent. For the last two weeks I have been living by myself, with the Summer holidays almost over and the upcoming academic year due to start there has been a lot of reshuffling, each of my house-mates have one-by-one moved out, with new ones to come. He's aware of this.

He's one of those people that simply exude confidence, actively depicting someone that doesn't bear embarrassment and when/if he does it's just a minuscule bit detectable only to the human eye using a magnifying glass or fine-toothed comb. 


( Picture via Architecture.phillipmartin.info )
Just as I had the door opened, this loud fraud of an American started chanting all these repeated empty promises about an extravagant lifestyle of yachts, private islands and trophy wives for him to hear.

Landlord: "I'm here for the rent," he said sheepishly, not too bothered by the weird, slightly paranormal voices transcending from the living room.
Me: "Right, two seconds I have it left in the kitchen." Both my fingers, toes, and eyes crossed that he wouldn't notice the hysteria inside that was increasing in volume.

Landlord: "Are you home alone?"
Me: "Yep! I am," I gushed unconvincingly, handing him over the month's rent.

Pop up advert: "Are you poor? Are you failing to meet this month's bills? Today, right now, I am offering you an incredible chance to make a substantial amount of money with ease, there is no catch."

Me: "Thanks for calling, is that everything?" I said indignantly.
Landlord: "Do you mind if I see what you're watching in the living room?" He had every reason to believe I was hosting an Avon or Cash For Gold convention, on the sly.
Me: "Eh?" I blinked confusedly, trying to make sense of what he was talking about (at this point it is a possibility that I might have tried to mentally check out of the conversation to avoid further mortification.)

He then breezed past me, obviously one of those proprietors who believes that owning something allows complete access to every corner and fingerbreadth of the building, with or without my permission.

Landlord: "Is this a conference call?" He overstated, slightly startled. 
Me: "No, my laptop just does this sometimes." There was a 'businesswoman' consuming the screen wearing a push-up bra roughly two sizes too small for her. 
Landlord: "Oh, you're probably watching too much bad content on it."

I'm not a deluded man. I don't expect a future without further humiliation or embarrassment, but I also don't think it's unreasonable for me to hope that someday I can face an encounter with someone (who has the power to make me homeless) without the poisonous handiwork of my laptop getting involved. 

Clearly, I'm asking for too much. Maybe I should follow suit and raise the white flag too?


( Picture via Sodahead.com )


Mouse Trap

This post comes live from the eye of the storm. A dark, dreary, vicious storm. Okay, Galway may not be in the midst of hurricane Catriona, and maybe we might have been enjoying a slight good spell the last few days. Little snippets of sunshine and clear skies are active, it's a forecast Evelyn Cusack would be proud to announce to the nation.

I'm referring to a mental storm as currently I am in agony. I am curled up into the foetal position, swaddled tightly in a blanket, lying awkwardly on top of my unmade bed. I'm typing this post with one hand and sucking my thumb with the other, fighting back tears, rocking myself steadily back and forth seeking comfort after surviving a major panic attack roughly half an hour ago.

Yes, everything is very severe, crazy and dramatic but my day didn't start like this, it started off fine. I got up early, I had a shower, and I made breakfast (always a bonus). Just your typical run-of-the-mill sort of day. Hardcore normality. Until it came to my attention that I had an intruder. Someone sneaked into my home uninvited. I made this discovery just after finishing my breakfast. The invasion at least had the courtesy to wait until I had devoured my Corn Flakes.


( Picture via It.wikihow.com )
I saw a mouse, it paraded across my kitchen like it was someone contributing rent. I was in shock. We made eye contact, and for a nanosecond the world stood still. I saw the fear in its eyes, and it saw the fear in mine. Then I scurried like the vermin I am directly out of the kitchen and up the stairs into the safe confinements of my bedroom. I locked the door, and started playing music loudly to let it know I was somewhat still present.  

Slightly mellow dramatic, I know. But these rodents are crafty and if it thought I had vacated the building it would start getting comfortable. It could start inviting friends, family members, half-cousins into the premises too. The television is left on downstairs, that bastard better not dare clock up my electricity bill, I know how addictive a marathon of Friends can get. So I need to make my nervous, hysterical presence known.

My house-mate is due home in two hours, but I don't think I can last that long. I don't know how to assess blood pressure, but I feel like mine is dropping fast, and within the next hour I could need to use the bathroom.


 ( Picture via Izamgs.com )
I've considered phoning emergency services. The fire brigade or some armed officers could intimidate this entity out of my life for good. They'd only need one bullet or a slice of cheese, it wouldn't be much hassle. But realistically what will they think of me? They'll judge me, even though we have these services for our own protection and well-being and it's my right to use them as I see fit.

The oxygen levels in this room are dropping and the longer I spend isolated the greater the chance I'll start developing agoraphobia. Then I might never end up leaving my room. I'm getting weaker and that thing downstairs is no doubt getting stronger, it's probably impervious to pain.

The times are confusing and certainties are hard to come by. Light a candle for me, keep me in your thoughts and prayers. I'll try and ride out this torturous ordeal until four. Admire my courage and strength. Speak highly of me to others. Heroes as I said last week come in all shapes and forms, just maybe not as little fury, taunting, wide-eyed, rodents.

#HopeForPatrick


( Picture via Thesun.co.uk )
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