Squatting

This weekend my mother moved out of the condo; fear not, it was an amicable end to our co habitation. She and the step papa took possession of their new place on Friday and the condo’s lease isn’t up until the end of April; so lucky me, I have it all to myself.

I've really been enjoying the solitude; I was raised an only child and “me” time is my thing. However, she took everything. Seriously, I am living like a squatter, case in point the pictures.


A mere week ago I was watching digital cable on a plasma screen television, like most people living in the 21st century. Now I watch television like they did in the 80’s, on a small grainy box, that requires I squint to see any of the finer details, like letters or expressions. Truth be told the first day of watching this archaic box, I was beyond hung over and I swear the effort that focusing required was only exacerbating my already throbbing head.


The TV is bad; the hub is worse. That’s the endearing term I have for my seating accommodations; that isn’t a seat at all. The hub is a cluster of blankets and pillows, along with my computer and a heating pad (cramps). It was fun at first but now my ass hurts. Getting up from a seated position is no problem, but getting up from the ground is a bitch. I make certain I have EVERYTHING I need before I sit down; because straight up, it’s too much fucking work getting up and getting back down again.


This whole set up is a lot like camping, which some people find rather recreational; I, however, despise camping. Black people don’t rough it, slavery was rough enough.

If I could talk to my adolescent self, I would say one thing; study harder or else you will be 24 and sitting on blankets on the floor watching a grainy $80 television. Sadly no one said that to me and here we are.

The countdown to my move is on...17 days.