no keyz!

I lost my house keys. Our crumbling Carlton terrace is one of those that cannot be vacated without using a key to lock the front door. Hence, I'm housebound until someone who DOES have a key, ie one of my housemouses, gets home and lets me out. It's been several hours, and even though it's pissing rain and hail outside and even though, really, I don't want to go outside (and wouldn't have any idea what I'd do once I got there), I feel completely claustrophobic. Being home alone is generally very very terrifying, I find. There's a lot of empty rooms, a lot of weapons, a lot of places to hide without being found. Terrifying. One of the big problems is that our couch faces away from the main corridor in the house. That is, when I'm watching TV, I can't see the door, hence I can't see any crazies as they come to kill me. Therefore my TV watching is severely disrupted. Most of the time I tough through it and watch back-to-back Buffy, but it rarely ends well. Most of the time it ends with me getting a knife from the kitchen and keeping it by my side just in case. Having the explain why I'm caressing a knife when the housies get home is another matter entirely.

I've been home quite a bit lately. This might not seem a bit deal, but I don't tend to spend a lot of time at my houses, usually. I spend more time at work or uni or in the toilet, important places. I've taken some time off work recently, though, in an effort to work on some writing commitments. I'm doing a whole lot of research for this new play I'm writing. It's a little bit about 1989, or at least the theme is 1989 - is that a theme? - so I've been looking at what people did and wore and saw and heard in 1989 and let me tell you, it weren't pretty. David Hasselhoff singing on the broken remains of the Berlin Wall to rapturous applause is, though hilarious, not the natural order of things. He is, however, wearing an amazing jacket - it lights up!! - so maybe it is inspiring after all. Other than that, I'm writing about post-apocalyptic (not really) brothers and an evil sister called Barnes, a bunch of craggy old European folk with funny names, and something with lots of talking animals and rhyme.

CK's home now, so it's time to venture out to find pizza and wine and bad DVDs.