IPod on Shuffle

Let's Dance to Joy Division - The Wombats

I'm back in Liverpool and everything seems the same-but I worked something out last night which changed this little boy's brain- a small piece of advice that too 22 years in the make and I will break it for you now - please learn from my mistakes- please learn from my mistakes

Lets dance to joy division and celebrate the irony- cause everything is going wrong but we're so happy - Lets dance to joy division and raise our glass to the ceiling- because this could all go so wrong but we're so happy-  yeah we're so happy.

So if you're ever feeling down grab your purse and take a taxi- to the darker side of town, that's where we'll be- and we will wait for you and lead you through the dancefloor, up to the DJ  booth - you know what to ask for - you know what to ask for

FAITH

Sighing, I drop down on my bed as a wave emotion breaks over me as I hear my rucksack flop onto the dusty wooden floor. The familiar hum of the downtown Liverpool traffic adds to the shouting of my two room mates. It appears that Luke has a problem with something George has done and can't seem to sort it out so the only option that they have is to barge into my room, still in a full blown argument, and try to get my opinion on it. Glaring at them, I firmly tell Luke to get his ass back into his own room so he slinks off into the dark hall way between his room, the small kitchen and mine and George's shared room. After he is gone, George angrily roots through the pile of cardboard boxes which have never been unpacked and begins shouting as he darts out of the room clutching a stack of papers so tightly his knuckles were white.

This mayhem continued as I pulled out my files and a pencil and tried to scratch out the notes from work last night. Chewing on the end of it, I try to decipher my recollection of my shifts for the last few days but all I manage to find out is that Luke used up all the milk again. I groan under my breath and slap my pencil down on the table. Flying to my feet, I thunder down the thin corridor between the two bedrooms to the communal kitchen area where the contents of the cupboards is getting waved around and scattered into clusters around the room.

"What the hell is going on?" I shout over the noise causing it to simmer down to stone cold silence.

"Well I'm sick to death of the two of you constantly stealing my..." begins Luke but he is cut off very quickly by a cry of: "Don't you dare blame this one on us! We're all adults here, why can't we sort this out?"

"Stop talking bullshit, George!" Luke mimics his voice bitterly, "We're all adults here... If we're all adults, why the hell can't we buy our own freaking milk!"

At this point, the ice cold silence that had fallen over the room was sliced through buy the chime of my phone. With a final glare at my arrogant roommate, I spin on my heels and storm out of the room, shouting angrily at them as I left.

Ah the weekly phone call from my mum I groan inwardly because these were the phone calls that could leave any 24 year old wishing they had never left home. No proper job. No house. No boyfriend. No money. The list of recurring topics goes on and on. After a few seconds of hesitation, I press the accept button and drop down at my desk.

After 45 minutes of very much one sided coversation, my mum decided it was time to stop ripping apart my life choices before she'd got even close to the question every person wants to hear: "Where do you see yourself in the future, Faith?"

With a massive sigh of relief, I hang up the phone and let it slide out of my hand onto the floor where it settles amongst the contents of a unpacked box filled with a sea of dresses, make up and heels that had been left untouched since I moved here. They've been subbed out of my life and replaced for dungerees and baggy jeans. I roll over onto my stomach and pull my arms around my head, pushing the pillow out of the way, and trying block out the incecent shouting of my land lord and room mate. Curling my fingers inwards, I dig my usually blunt nails into the soft palms of my hand until a fat drop of blood travels down my hand where it drips onto my face and settles there. I remain still, in the same position, for what seems like eternity, until the shouting and thundering of footsteps thunders down the hall and  burst into the small room without pausing their arguement for even a second. Insults fly around like sticks in a hurracaine as the few statements i manage to hear are: "I've told you I don't have it!" and "well someone in this damned apartment does and it's bloody well not me!"