You could also call my life ‘ruined’.

For those who are just here for the comments, you can skip the next text, because everything important, or unimportant, whatever you want to call it, was already in the lead, or at least everything that is now in the lead was there. The next lines then only contain details, names and times. I don’t want to make it too complicated, but some of you want information. Others are just here for the frustration of the week, for a quick hit. I think both are good, the most important thing is that you don’t ignore me.

(Yes, my ego was already more intact.)

So. We rewind. Two weeks ago I had to say goodbye to Valentina. The non-swimmer. Haven’t you seen it? But you weren’t there either. And it’s still my life. My appartment. My bed. And if I don’t want sweaty sports bras on them, I just don’t want sweaty sports bras on them. My territory, my rules.

item.

After a week without sex, Mrs. Mrs. I knew because she announced it. She wrote me a message saying she was coming to Zurich. I didn’t answer, well, not at first, then I wrote to her that I was very busy and would contact her spontaneously if I suddenly didn’t have much to do anymore. I had no intention of reporting. But I didn’t want to be rude either. Not answering is rude.

At the same time, we are now a week post sports bra gate, our new roommate decided we should have a shared house party. I actually think it’s a stupid idea. There is a lot to do, the others are having a party, you are running around the apartment like crazy handing out all kinds of things or explaining for the hundredth time where the toilet is, even if you could think of it that way, but people want it doing in exchange all the time, so you’re constantly in exchange and you can’t leave because you’re already where you need to be. But that’s still possible: the worst comes the next day, when you have to clean up all the mess. But I didn’t want to be a spoilsport and didn’t think the party idea was so bad anymore when Hanna wrote that she had made a deal with Laura that evening and that the two of them would come to the party. (If you don’t remember Laura: here.) I thought sex with Laura was long overdue and at that point, Mrs.

Laura was there too. We did the usual sarcasm ping-pong. She looked great. At one point she disappeared into the kitchen, stood there for a while, then stood on the balcony for a long time, smoking one cigarette after another. In any case, I didn’t see her again until much later, but then only briefly. In the meantime I had drunk so much beer that I almost didn’t remember my own name.

The next morning was bad, I could barely stand up, let alone walk. (I rhyme just for you folks, so you know this. Just for you.) But I suddenly woke up to Laura suddenly standing in our kitchen. As if she had always been there. And like it was completely normal for her to be here. She asked if I had a hangover. I nodded. I had. Not you, she said without me asking. I wanted to ask what on earth she was doing in our kitchen, but the new roommate came into the kitchen, grinning widely, also completely hungover, or at least it didn’t seem that way. He squeezed her arm as if they had been a couple for four hundred years. I could have puked.

How I didn’t notice this is beyond me. But I was so drunk that they probably could have had sex in my room and I wouldn’t have noticed.

And then I sent a message. To Mrs. Of course I regret it. But what could I have done differently in this situation?

Even.

So long,

Ben