My mother jokingly calls me the cow that lives on the stairs because I used to spend incredible time in my room as a little man.
I just liked my place and my company.
I could watch movies and play games in my room, if I was in the room I would have to watch East Enders or something I thought was below me, so why would I leave my perfect stones that I wanted Will make My own needs and desires?
It became a bit of a running joke and my mom called me whenever I would go out of my room if my grandmother was down for a visit or something.
“who is that ?!” My grandmother would scream in the wrong rage when I entered the room, pale and thin.
“This is the little boy who lives on the stairs,” my mother would say and he would laugh.
I felt like I was in the Simpsons episode where Bart found out that Marge and Homer were keeping their secret twin brother, Hugo, high because they thought they were bad.
Then they will probably joke that when I was nine years old, it was time for me to get a job and start climbing the stairs freely, just raiding or descending the cupboards for crisps and biscuits instead of starting to contribute to the house. To get off Dirty plates and cups down.
An annoying squat.
The baby-sized spider that messed up was basically what I was.
It’s a manicure I’ve found, somehow, stuck with me for a lifetime.
After shaking it briefly for a few years, as I grew older and became a little more sociable, I heard the neighbors refer to me as my mother had told me all these years ago.
I moved into an upstairs flat with my girlfriend a few years ago and, several weekends later, we heard the guy in the downstairs flat talking to me about the woman who came home. Lived with From stores.
“Some man is making noise from the top of the stairs,” I heard him say.
I almost fainted and almost fell down.
It happened again. I was a little man who always lived up the stairs.
We finally went out because the rent was extortion and the flat itself seemed to be made of a new type of building material which made every noise that scared me so much in my house that I didn’t receive any. Be angry at the door by the neighbor
I vowed never to be on the ladder again, hopefully if I did, my luck would change.
Now that my girlfriend and I have been away with her parents for a while, it’s over again – I’m the little boy who lives on the stairs again.
I only want to be a polite guest when we are here and do not want to impose on anyone.
But it made me wonder if the name would leave me. Am I doomed to be the little man who is always on the steps?
Is this what my kids will call me?
What if I walk out of the office above me while my kids are their companions or something else, my eyes light up, wild hair hangs from my back and I have been writing the same novel for the last 20 years. Looking upset
“who is that ?!” His friend will scream in terror.
“Just the little boy sitting on the stairs,” my baby would sigh.
“Ignore him and he’ll be gone.”
Before I go back in the dark, I’ll make a pot noodle in the kitchen.
Maybe in a previous life I was some kind of villain.
Retreating into the wilderness in search of a lonely personality, loneliness and the wisdom that comes with it.
Time and time again, I’ve been a guy climbing stairs under different guises that are always behind in time.
Maybe some deeper revelation is waiting for me to come out through this.
I have no idea what this revelation is or could possibly be.
So far I have no wisdom, only deep concerns about the state of affairs. World And sometimes it feels like absolute madness.
I need to break this cursed problem and become a better version of myself.
Maybe I need to be a thin man on the ladder instead.