Bedlam, Nocturnalism & Talking to Oneself

I've only been on my own for two days, but already there's been a breakdown in the social order. Yes, the spousal consort has cut a trail to the godforsaken middle of nowhere, leaving the little lady at home until safety and democracy can be established at the new homestead. But that little lady is not home polishing her tea service and sewing bed shams. Oh no, she is becoming rather too comfortable in her own skin. For when social pressures are removed, that is to say, when one has no responsibilities, no obligations, and no appointments with others of the species, well, a strange kind of metamorphosis begins to take place.

First of all, time becomes irrelevant. I don't even know where my watch is these days, and my only sense of passing time has to do with celestial events. Since my shades have been drawn due to a fit of paranoia the other night (a delusional episode involving the belief that the landlady was lurking in the bushes and snapping unflattering photographs), even the sun, the moon and the stars have lost their significance. It is always twilight here. This has an impact on otherwise regimented activities, like meal times. I know instinctively, that coffee must be consumed immediately upon waking. And I know, as do all animals, that solid food is essential for survival. However, it is not until my menagerie of house creatures warns me that dinner time is imminent that I too begin to forage for sustenance. So far this has been strictly vegetarian fare. Not because I am a vegetarian, but because I lack the will to actually prepare and cook something more substantial. Leaving the house for fast food is an equally alarming prospect since that would require changing out of my battle worn night clothes and into something society might deem appropriate.

Then there's the bio-rhythm. Left unchecked and unharassed, I gravitate toward naps. Long, luxurious mid-day naps. This leaves me bright eyed and bushy tailed come night time. Without the natural healing warmth of the sun to guide my disposition into a happy place, I am left feeling haunted, hunted, manic and restless. I naturally try to alleviate these feelings by engaging in meaningful tasks like Face Book and compulsively checking my email. Sometimes, I wander down to the living room and flick through the 800 television stations Direct TV has bestowed upon us, and invariably settle on some program I would never ever usually watch (lately LOGO gay TV, the 700 club, and some Spanish channel that seems to be devoted to soap opera programming.) I watch these things because no one is here to stop me. There's no negotiation required when one is alone. One may engage in flatulence with impunity, sprawl across the entire bed and make use of all bed pillows with impunity, bathe for 2 hours, dine on red hots and beets, externalize internal dialogue (i.e., talk to oneself), use the bathroom with the door wide open, feed the cat on the kitchen counter, let the dogs sleep in the bed, talk to one's mother in London for 3 hours straight, refuse to brush one's hair, and engage in much spontaneous lip-syncing while perambulating around the house...just to name a few.

So what will become of me, I wonder? Will I become a feral suburbanite? Will the spouse be forced to send me back to obedience school when he sees how I've gone to seed? I will just have to wait and see...