It's a dog's life living with the folks, where there's a novel approach to releasing anger, says Saoirse O'Brien
Living with my folks isn't that bad. Like, I get a cup of tea brought to me every morning by the old man, it's very comforting to know there are two walking ATMs in the house at all times, and at least I got custody of Wilson, the labradoodle me and Brooke shared.
Well, TBH, I got custody of him months ago, during myself and Brooke's penultimate falling-out. Wilson kinda came to live with my olds and they fell in love with him so much that he never left. Which is probably just as well, as a vicious tug-of-love isn't very good for one's emotional welfare -- neither mine nor the dog's. And Brooke doesn't seem to care that he has gone, weapon that she is.
My old dear has taken to Wilson a bit too readily. He sits on her lap every night, all gazillion stone of him, while she watches America's Craziest Home Improvements, or one of those shows (home décor is like porn for old people). And she's even started referring to Wilson as her "big baba". Huh. I never got that much attention off her.
But, all in all, things could be a lot worse. Since I moved out of Brooke's, I've been hanging with Aoife a good bit in college. She's being really sound: I think she's having selective amnesia about the fact I spurned her boring brother last year and she's in agreement with me that Brooke seeing CKK is the ultimate betrayal, so she isn't speaking to her either. We've got a lot in common right now, namely being single and our hatred of Brooke.
Aoife's such a good friend -- she's been encouraging me to follow in Peaches Geldof's footsteps (not the marriage-in-Las-Vegas thing, but the writing-a-collection-of-depressing-short-stories thing). She has even offered to read a story of mine and give honest feedback. So I sent her That Flat-Chested Ho Used to be My Friend. "I just want to reiterate, it's complete fiction," I wrote in the email ...