The only sane lifeform in this house

This image was swiped from www.kateglanville.com. It's very pretty, isn't it.

Okay, I have been sitting on my bed staring at my fish long enough. It is time to do a bit of blogging.

I think Nabla and Himself are right; the fact that I turn the oxygen thingy off every night so I can sleep is giving them brain damage. Currently, they are picking stones from the floor of the tank and spitting them at the glass on the side facing me. I don’t know whether they are spitting them at each other’s reflection, or whether they are trying to get my attention.

I hope it is the former; if I feed them anymore, they will explode. And we’re not really getting anywhere on the communicating with each other front. Apart from ‘feed me, feed me, feed me’, wiggle wiggle O O O type gesticulation from them and head-butting my finger when I put it up against the glass.

At least once a night they wake me up by crashing loudly into something. I have no idea what they do, as it only ever happens when it is dark. But I am not imagining it, as the other night they woke Himself up too. ‘What ‘n the Christ…?’, he started up and then poked me in the side.

‘It’s just the fish, go back to sleep’, I mumbled.

‘What the friggin’ Christ are they up to?’ he wanted to know.

We turned the light on and they were suspended motionless mid-bowl staring out at us, all big-eyed innocence and ‘tum-ti-tum, is it time to get up and feed us already’.

It was four am.

That other great fishbowl of the world, the Oscars, is currently under the microscope of the world’s cameras, but I am not watching because that would entail sitting in the living room with Psycho Bruce. He has been watching tv since two thirty pm. It is now nine o’clock. He does this every Sunday. Last week he watched the box for thirteen hours straight.

If I did that I would throw up.

We staggered in from a night of revelry at two am Friday night and found him sitting staring at it in the dark, with his coat still on. He looked mesmerised. I think he was just really pissed.

Three more Sundays.

Then he will be gone. Maybe I can smuggle the fish tank into his bags and return the house to some form of sanity.