I am house sitting at the moment. This particular house comes with a bipolar dog (undiagnosed), a leaky roof, a four-slice toaster and an ass-load of curtains. It's an interesting experience.
I thought perhaps being away from the distractions of home, that I might find myself thinking far too much; feeling deeper - sinking into my own crazy mind; instead I think I might be drowning in the space. My thoughts haven't gotten bigger, but instead, smaller. Everything becomes - did I feed the dog today, did I open those curtains, am I sure I locked that door... there is no space to ponder the self involved thought I might've had earlier. Maybe because I'm not alone - because the dog is forever looking at me knowingly, as if to say "bitch, where do you think you're going without me?"
I say it's an interesting experience, because it is not at all what I thought it would be. I have all the television one might want, but all I want to do is go to bed and read a book. The dog, while affectionate, is easily depressed - it perturbs me to have this on my conscience. Living with this dog, is an experience I would liken to sharing a room with Hannibal Lecter - at all hours of the day and night you will come to hear this dog licking and sucking and gnawing itself - it can't be normal, it just can't. Then there is the toilets - with some crazy blue deodoriser thing sitting in the bowl of the toilet - which when flushed emits a violent blue into the water - a sight you might expect to see if a smurf was bludgeoned to death in your toilet...if smurfs were real.
Oh dear perhaps I am thinking too much after all.
I guess this house is someones home - it's just not mine. When we intrude in another persons space, we must remember that we are stepping into their world, and in a way, into an extension of their mind. I wonder what my minds house would look like.