Saturday night, living

I skipped some invitations this weekend just so I could do my own thing - anything I damned well pleased, on my own schedule, no judgment, no explanation. Sometimes I wonder how I could ever be anything but single after all these years of twisting solitude into patterns that comfort me.

Last night I pulled out the sofabed so I could watch the (fixed) HD TV and fall asleep if I felt like it. I did, dozing off at one of those ungodly early moments (9?) and waking up about midnight to the sounds of a party. I think in the apartment below me, as it's too cold for it to be in the backyard outside my window. It doesn't matter - the new couple below me are pals with the couple in the back, and the guy across the hall seems to be in their posse. It's like Melrose Place here - although I suppose that's too archaic a reference for these 20-something guys.

So I was okay with the noise, just turned up my TV louder, but then I woke up again with a headache and realized I was smelling cigarette smoke. Was it drifting through the radiator, the gaps around the pipes, the floor? Or were they standing below my window smoking outside? They all smoke, but it smelled like they were all chain smoking. It reminded me of coming home from smoky bars, in the old days, with hair that smelled like an ashtray and that turned your pillowcase into one if you went to bed without showering.

But I was in my own apartment.

I have found another reason to move.