Last night I went to bed at midnight. And when I woke up it was dark, and I heard my housemate Marcus screaming “Just leave.” “Just go.” “Get out.” “Who are you.” “What are you doing here?” (5am) Dan (me) assumed that Marcus had gone through an emotional and early hour break up.
I assumed that after being rustled from their sleep by a passing van (wrong), Marcus and his partner had exchanged some difficult truths (didn’t happen). And this was that very last straw (nope) between them. I thought about messaging Marcus (briefly), to ask if he was OK (probably not worth it), to give him some support (but it was super late), a kind shoulder to lean on (tomorrow), but I also knew how tired I was. I let him (us) take his (our) rest. Deep down I knew that time heals all wounds (where ‘all’ is a subset of wounds that aren’t fatal, and ‘time’ is a period of time that still constitutes almost immediate treatment).
In the end it turned out some random guy walked into our house and walked into Marcus’ room. Nothing is missing as far as we can tell. But I think the whole experience brought Marcus and I closer together as a family unit. Suffice to say, our next house invasion, will be a home invasion. And I can’t wait.
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