A Letter

Dear housemate,

I understand that you have previously led a sheltered life in which you apparently were under no requirement to take care of yourself in any way. I understand that this is a new country and perhaps you are still disoriented. I understand that some things which seem obvious to the rest of us may be utterly incomprehensible to you. Nevertheless, when I examine the household recycling bin, which I had taken the precaution to label on its lid in a large font exactly what is permitted to be entered into it and what is not, and when I find within this same bin the following items:

• Used tissue
• Teabags
• Instant noodle wrappers
• Cheese wrappers
• Eggshells
• Egg yolk
• Parcel packaging indicating your full name and address
• Bank letters indicating your full name, address and account number

When I find these same items within a bin reserved for recycling, I am forced to conclude that you are severely lacking in common sense, and are perhaps illiterate as well. I would argue that you are also deficient in a sense of responsibility, a postulate reinforced by the mess left on the toilet floor as a result of your faulty aim, and which you apparently do not feel the necessity to clean up. I would propose to hold a grudge against you for such behaviour, or plan some form of humiliating revenge, except that it is clear to me that your carelessness will bring you much grief at some point in the future when you should reside amongst less tolerant and honest persons. Therefore I will continue to delve into the recycling bin, tear up your sensitive mail and scrub the floor with Dettol, knowing that there is no greater punishment than what your own stupidity will eventually inflict upon you.

I remain, with regards,
Your housemate.

Music

Long ago, people would ask me what songs I liked. Some of these people were teachers. I hated that, because that meant I had to come up with a correct answer. And as someone who was raised on wordless music, there was no correct answer. So I'd just pick a decent-looking piece and claim to be desperately in love with it.

Even now, a great deal of the music I listen to is wordless. Much of it is background music from video games and movies. I think there is something about background music, which is manipulative and uninterrupting at once.

That not make sense? Good. Stop asking about my favourites. I like many things.

On another note, what is the proper thing to say if someone asks how you are? I usually alternate between a vague non-committal reply, and accurately describing my current situation.

Ants

About a million of them, to be precise, cutting a thick path from under the front door all the way to the dustbin, where apparently some banana peel interested them. Eradication involved large amounts of water and soap, complete rinsing of the dustbin and removal of the offending trash to the garbage centre.

It seems that the hot weather is driving the ants to seek food indoors (yet another reason why I can't wait for winter). I might probably have to draw lines of baby powder, coffee, vinegar or peppermint oil, and see what keeps them out. Worse come to worst, I could always keep the dustbin standing in a basin of water. I hate having to kill them. Besides having to commit mass-murder, the corpses are annoying to clean up.

Now spiders I can live with. Come to my house, spiders. I have some ants for you.