There’s no place like…house?

There’s no place like home.

There’s no place like home.

There’s no place like home.

What the hell was that little weirdo and her obnoxiously quiet dog, Dorothy, talking about? For two weeks now, I have been homeward bound, bound down and down in the dumps – stuck in a limbo of happiness and longing to go back to school.. As much as I anticipated going home, now I’m here, well, there’s not a thing for me to do. Mainly because I do not own a car (or a driver’s license for that matter) and taking public transport is not only the biggest pain in my butt, but also extortion. So now, for the days where I don’t wanna pester the parental units for money, I sit in my luxurious room (and that is not sarcasm, my room is pretty sweet), and watch episodes of the ‘L Word’ secretly. Secretly? Well, mainly because I think my mother thinks I am a homosexual.

I have no problem with anybodies sexual preference, you like who you like and none of my family argues against that. Funnily enough, my ma would probably poop her pants if I did tell her I liked women for the simple fact that she couldn’t have the Nigerian wedding she’s been planning for me since I was conceived. The problem with living in America is that the sexual freedom is so, well, free, that me embracing this new lifestyle is wearing me thin in my old lifestyle. Home. I’ve had to seriously become normal again around the family because half the things I do and say will buy me a one way ticket to a mental institute; but then saying this, I do not feel like myself. At school, I can act how I want to act, say what I want to say and do what want to do. However, at home, I can’t do a thing.

My mother insists that because of this brace on my knee, not only am I a baby, but I need to be in my house by 9pm. 9PM!! Her hypothesis is that because I can’t run, somebody will chase me and then, ultimately, I’ll die. Therefore, she wants me to stay inside the house, wait for her to return from work, and then have girly chats with her about my life whenever possible. By whenever possible it could be 2am in the morning when I am half asleep, or 7am in the morning when she is going to work and I am, well, half asleep; either way, I'm half asleep. She’s trying to catch me when I’m down I tell you. She now knows about all of my tattoos and managed to make me slip a little about my sexual activities. Why? Well it was about 3am in the morning and I was exhausted. What a low blow ma.

Then my sister believes that I am Mrs. Money Banks and declares that because I am the oldest sister, I have to pay for everything whenever we go out. My brother bothers me non-stop about playing on my phone and on my laptop regardless of the amount of times I tell him no. No. No. NO. Leave me alone, let me sleep, let me spend my own money, and let me live my life with my personal technology. The problem is, I see in their eyes that they’ve missed me when we have our own little private moments and I melt, I give in to them; all the while, I’m being little miss perfect. Shall I tell you what I wanna do? Walk around my room butt naked and dance like I do at school. Curse after every other word like I do at school. Have friends over whenever I want and let them leave, like I. Do. At. School. I love home, I do, but goodness me, I have no life. Mainly because half of my friends still have stupid exams at their stupid universities in stupid places like Brighton. I text them daily and inform them that I am back and they better get their priorities right. Exams will always be around whereas yours truly, will not.

So in a desperate bid to get out of the house and earn some cash to fund my siblings’ unhealthy obsessions, I have a job. I start on Tuesday as one of those annoying a telemarketing person who phones anyone who was ever pressured on the streets to donate money to charities and ask them to, go figure, donate more money. Whatever, it’s really good pay and I choose my own hours and, it gets me out of the house. My excitement to do manual labor has never ever been this extreme, but desperate needs cause for desperate measures; or whatever that saying is.

In case you’re wondering. No basketball for me until like, October, which is poopish, but it does mean I can be a kid for a bit. I plan to go to Spain for a bit and also to Amsterdam and visit the Red Light District to compare their prices with mine (that was a joke). Regardless, apart from rehab (swimming but really trying to go deep enough to hide my ugly ugly feet from the cuties who are taking a dip) and you know, waiting for my trainers over here to contact me. Frankly I think they’re avoiding me since I email them daily and try to do my diva thing of DEMANDING they tend to my every whimsical and miniscule need. So far, none have been met. [sigh].

The dreams have followed me continental though. I had a dream that I was a notorious drug dealer alongside few of my friends. Our hideout was this underground room that we could only access through going to the bars in my school area. However, it wasn’t only the soft stuff we sold like, coke, weed and ecstasy; we sold the good stuff, valium, xanax, happy pills and some self made pills for the people who were tryna lose weight; something like a laxative but, you’d always smile when you were on the toilet. I don’t know. It’s been a rollercoaster of emotions and I’ve only been here for two weeks. There are days I love being here, and then days when I miss the old guy whom oogled my goodies back at school (see to pee or not to pee). He came back to fix my blinds literally minutes after I’d put the work order in. What a surprise it was him huh? I feel like maybe he’s directing my orders to his personal email in the hope that when he comes I’ll be nakey, and luckily for him, I almost always am.

I just hope my time here improves – if not, I may start walking back to school now – hopefully I’ll make it back by the time school starts.

…because everyone is a special enforcer at heart; some just choose to get on the court.