Late Application: Homeles

So yeah. These are now your monthly slice of emotional ranting lol lol lolol lol.

Wow, I’ve been framed, but hey, as I said last issue I am 100% happy and hardly going to hulk out.

I am homeless at the moment. It sucks. Though what sucks more is that when I say I am homeless I actually mean I now live with my mum and dad in their house in the country.

So five years ago when I left home I made a vow that I would under no circumstances ever move home and that I would in fact rather sleep under a bridge then actually live there again.

Now, its not that my ‘rents are not amazing, its just I factor moving home for reasons beyond my control to be another form of failing, so in fact living in a house that I don’t want to live in is hardly the same type of homelessness as someone who lives in no house.

How did I get here? I guess I should at least go back to the start, to when I moved into Williamson Avenue.

The Williamson flat was one of life’s great opportunities: I had always wanted to move back into Ponsonby and with little keeping me on the Shore and the Law degree calling, I saw that house as the first step to actually growing up. It was built in 1904 and had fixtures and fittings that hadn’t been replaced to accommodate what were considered a student body of flatters over the past 20 years.

It was old, cold, wet, smelly and ours; it also was home to at least one family of mice and a rat that lived under the deck, and at night if you listened to the sounds of the house there was also something quite large moving around the roof. Also if you consider them to be a rodent of sorts there was a crack head living in the flat down stairs.

It was Madness, a house when the most normal of times was spent watching sky and smoking bucket bongs (just wiki search a bucket bong if you don’t know what it is as their application and conventional use is well documented) Anyway, this was the house in which the lease holder was buying tabs of ecstasy at wholesale prices and selling tabs of ecstasy at full price to finance his every weekend and pay for his marketing degree, where the resident Asian was actually 32 and the only Jock within the house was playing Rugby and slaying all the girls. There was also the G-unit gangsta (though in his defense he was actually a nice guy when his crew wasn’t around) We all smoked way to much weed and hardly went to class for those of us who studied.

I guess my one of my favorite stories to come out from this house would have to be when I came home from my parents house and, after turning onto Ponsonby Road, 2 police cars screamed past me. My first thought was that they would be going to the Williamson as it wasn’t uncommon for the police to frequent the flat for madness caused by the flat mates. Turning onto Williamson I noticed halfway down that the ominous glow of red and blue were in fact parked outside of the house and when pulling up was surprised to see that there were 6 police cars and around 15 cops surrounding the gangstas and the lease holder. His friends were being arrested for fighting, of all things, on the road. I sat alone in the house as the police questioned individuals on the deck and the footpath. After a time I ventured out, coffee in hand, to witness everyone being processed into cars and being taken away, leaving me alone again with the blinding realization that the dream was over and the flat was dead. Subsequently though,