Merry Bachelor

A pounding sound is coming through the wall. A neighbour is either hammering in a nail, or having sex on a creaky bed. I can’t quite tell the difference, and I’m not sure the neighbour can either.

A neighbour was screaming at his wife last night. I think I heard him at noon (or Friday night?) He was still going at it around 2AM. It was a long monologue – the woman’s words could only be inferred, from howls of DON’T TELL ME TO STOP SHOUTING! and DON’T BRING THAT SUBJECT UP NOW! – basically about getting no respect.
This evening I went to eat at the nearby cafe and saw a woman crying there, sitting at an outside table with another woman. I couldn’t help wonder if that was the wife.

Saturday talk with my dad:
How are you?
Fine.
Really? Are you sure? You don’t sound sure.
Well, actual-ly, I’m clinicaly depressed.
… (I then describe my content-free long weekend to my dad, who admonished me that I should do something with my life, because time is running out).
Later:
Me: …So I. says I should practice some martial art. (a remarkable number of statements I make about my so-called life start with X says that …. I prefer not to hold any strong opinions about the subject myself).
My dad: You should take up folk dancing. It will do you a world of good.

I need to get some oocytes. Preferably with a girlfriend attached.

That was perhaps too personal. Maybe I should point out that I’m talking about my other dad here. And another neighbour.