so tired, so sick
housemate and pertinent boyfriend have basically told me i'm insane.
'you don't know me that well.'
'oh yes, we do.' (wide eyes, nodding)
'well, you don't - and that says a lot about your opinion of me.'
'no, it's not that, it's just that.....'
becaaaaaause... (granted) i have a hyperactive imagination which totally loses the listener and doesn't know what i'm going on about and move my hands a lot and tend to mime?
and don't lie there like a comatose slug? and don't wear black daily? and don't eat huge family-sized pizzas on my own? and don't play games and watch dvds all day?
and take pictures of the silliest things?
and prefer to eat vegetables?
yes, the boyfriend denies all vegetables, he prides himself in never touching fruit, and filling the house with lamb burger stink, mixing curry with ketchup and going 'hmmmm i love the smell of hamburgers in the morning' while i curl my lip at the poor taste of that comment - i could have interpreted it wrong, but since he's stated very clearly that he thinks vegeterianism is nonsense humbug hogwash rubbish, and since he always seems to assume all i eat is grass, eyeing at the tray i'd happen to be holding, well what can i say, i was on guard.
everything is either a confrontation or a submission with him. by his rules, he is the rooster, you the chicken, you obey the rooster, you shelter yourself under his wing.
and says proudly 'i can give off steam, i am very warm. look at you, you need protection. i will order take out for you.'
aahh, no, i'm alright, i'll be on my way, thanks.
you're a lonely rooster, aren't you? that's why you keep hold of your girlfriend so tightly, you bring her apple juice, you sigh a fatherly sigh, you organize her life, you make her believe she is less than you, under your thumb, her always agreeing, her always submitting, then you laugh, gulp down a glass of coke, keeping her self-esteem low so yours shines through without having moved a centimeter.
yes, you are a desperate rooster. you tell us how to wash our clothes, you ask us if we've forgotten something, the keys, the bag, the wallet. you give us that tone, that nuance that says 'you will depend on me'. you indulge us with trivia, trivia that doesn't affect our lives, trivia that doesn't trascend, trivia that says that you practice your roostering in front of a mirror.
i'm not going to say 'oohs' and 'aaahs' because no1. i rarely do and no.2 not for you.
you are a cocky rooster because your plumage is all the sponge-absorbed knowledge, all the useless facts and figures that you forcefeed, that you implement patronizingly, all the comments you make during the commercials, all the hooks you leave for us to bite so you can pour it all onto us, even if it makes you a cretin, because yes, i have caught you out, you are a king-sized cretin.
you are a sad rooster, because i know the source of this craving for this control, for admiration, you always seem to flaunt the affective drought you suffered, you expose it, you showcase it, and i'm sorry.
yet it doesn't matter how much lynx deodorant or calvin klein 'obsession' you put on yourself, the smell still wafts through.
ps. and masculine perfumes stink.