The Horrors of Living at Home in Your Twenties

I am aware I started another blog in a similar alcohol drenched vein, but I am a little drunk right now, so bare with me.

I'm gonna stand in front of you all, bold, yet slightly ashamed, and state that I, Josephine Cooper (at this point my ex girlfriend would add "the third of Scarborough" to be hilarious), am 26 and living with my parents (and 21 year old brother). Why am I here? (I will get to that) How did it come to this? (woah there Nelly, all in good time. Why don't you go put another plaster on your face while I continue with my intro?) Is it as bad as others would think? (In two words, fuck yes) Is anything going to change? (God, I hope so)

Nothing says Gangsta like a diamond encrusted weight.

What triggered this blog post? I guess it was coming in to my familial home after an eight hour day at work and almost two hour journey home; a journey I do five days a week. Do you think, knowing the length of time I am out of the house, knowing the pressures I am currently under with my job, that my parents would leave me the hell alone for 20 minutes when I get in to just get my barings, embrace the end of my workday, and allow me to just chill the fuck out? No. The bombardment of facts and opinions from within the very essence of their souls attacks me the very second I get in. They tell me about THEIR day, what THEY have been up to, who has pissed THEM off, made THEM laugh, etc etc etc and there I stand, harassed and rubbing my temples, as they witter on.... and on... and on.

If there is one thing I have learnt, on top of many deeply depressing, painful and cruel truths that have smothered or beaten me in this life, it is that nothing is free. I don't pay rent. Yes, this is awesome because it means I can do what I want, whenever I want, with whoever I want, but it does have its costs. And boy, those costs are big. Have you ever heard the sound of a willy waggle? Do you even know what a willy waggle is? It is the sound, of a man, waggling his willy after he has had a piss. I hear this from my bedroom, or rather I used to, until I learnt to cover my ears and turn my music up; even if it is on shuffle and Celine Dion suddenly blares out "It's All Coming Back to Me Now", anything beats that sound. Seriously, when I am on my death bed that awful noise will probably come back to haunt me (the waggle, not Celine Dion); spiting my lesbian genes as I breathe my last foisty, diseased ridden breath.

Some people, no matter how hard they try, will always have the sex appeal of an onion.

Another toilet related issue, is that as soon as I go into the shower, turn it on and start enjoying my own quiet, soapy, steamy solitude, someone will knock on the door in need of a piss.... or worse. Ever had someone do a dump while you are having a hot shower? It is UNFORGIVABLE behaviour. Almost as irritating is someone rushing into the shower as soon as you get out of it, even if your shower was a mere five minutes long. Even MORE irritating than that, but nowhere near as horrific as the shitty shower stench, is the person that knocks and makes it clear they need the toilet in a passive aggressive "oh its fine, I'll just wait, don't worry about me and my horrifically stretched bladder" manner so you rush out and completely stop enjoying your time out from the every day grind.

"You have already raped my nostrils, you may as well use my hand to wipe yourself."

I am an antisocial person. I am. I'm not ashamed of this. I hate people sitting next to me on buses, standing too close to me, trying to start a conversation with me about the weather, giving me a hug if I barely even know them, all of it. I'm not saying I am awesome, even though I am, but I really do embrace my own company; a fact that my parents seem to forget, despite knowing me for a whole 26 frickin years. The daily grind is almost worse for me than other people, because I am so horribly pernickety, socially phobic and generally dickish, so my time out is incredibly important to me and my own sanity.

Living at home and viewing your parents eccentricities in a magnified and intimate (shut up) manner costs me a lot, if the price is viewed in mental health chips. I'm not saying I'm gonna go out and start defecating on all public benches, terrorising small children with threats of Jaysus's wraith or talking through a beaver puppet while calling police officers "sugar tits" every Saturday, but it definitely bums me out. It doesn't really help that there are certain eccentricities within this household that I can't really discuss with my friends; for example, has your Mum ever spent more than 400 pounds on a life size doll of a premature baby that she got shipped over from Australia? No? Didn't think so.

There are certain things that I am sure piss off everyone about their parents, like the invasiveness into your private life via Facebook or your diary, or the way they look at you like you're being precious when you leerily ask them to wash their hands after they have handled chicken (being leery in Norfolk slang means getting arsey, not getting pervy, ed), or their bewilderment at your rage over them leaving prescription drugs somewhere easily accessible, which has resulted in you finding half a packet of chewed up paracetamol in your dog's basket. One paracetamol can kill a dog the size of a jack russell and considering I view my dog as one of my few true friends, whoever left them there should stop being such a heartless dick. There is also the fact I can not leave my toothbrush in the bathroom because someone will use it to either brush their teeth or attempt to murder me with e-coli, the fact I can not go within five miles of a kettle without someone expecting a cup of tea (even though they can't make a decent cup of coffee for me in return to save their lives. Oh, what's that? A cup of milky water with one granule of coffee and seven table spoons of sugar? My favourite!) I could go on, but you get my drift.

This is not a perfect situation by any means. I thought I had my perfect situation when I was in love, but that was a lie and that was temporary. I just need to keep reminding myself that everything is transitional and nothing lasts forever while I remain in this fishbowl and try to plan my next move. I also need to remember that, while I criticise and bitch about the people that I live with, they really helped me a lot when I was at rock bottom and for that I will forever be grateful. I also know that it would also probably be productive for me to look at my own concave reflection and find ways to improve myself instead of seeing through that and obsessing about my next independent step. The times they are a'changin', I just have to make sure I change for the better with them.