Living in the living room

The couch is not too uncomfortable. I had a good rest and woke up early this morning. Like almost every morning, I had a boner. I lit a cigarette and when my boner calmed down to a semi, I stood up and went to the bathroom. When I walked past my old bedroom, I smelled fart. I then heard uncle Roy ripping out another thunderous fart.

(I am going to burn my bed to ashes the day he moves out.)

After I brushed my teeth, my penis was completely flaccid and I had a long pee. I went back to the living room, and there was Grandma.

Grandma was sitting on the couch, staring at the wall. She did not even notice that I was only wearing underpants and continued to stare at the wall while nodding.

“The weather girl says it is going to rain today,” she said and pointed at the wall.

I wanted to get my towel to take a shower, but my farting Uncle was suddenly singing in the shower. Behind Grandma and the couch, I pulled my underpants down, got a fresh pair on and then got dressed.

I do not know how long Uncle Fart Roy will be staying, but just by looking at Grandma, I am sure she will not be moving out while she is alive.

It seems that I have two options:

Stay in the living room.
Get a place of my own.

The best option would obviously be number 2. I have a job and I have an income. I am getting minimum wage, I think, or maybe less, and Dad is deducting rent each month from my pay.

I think he should deduct less now that I do not have my own bedroom, and when I move out, there should be no rent/accommodation deduction at all.

As soon as I get a chance, I am going to discuss it with Dad.

Lily, my older sister, entered the living room, looked at the couch and Grandma, pointed at me, laughed, and then left.

Mom came into the living room, told me the place looked like a pig sty and she went to the kitchen.

I tried to tidy the couch, but Grandma was sitting on my duvet. I asked her to please stand up for a moment. She mumbled something, and then asked for a cup of English tea.

I tried to pull out the duvet from under her, but she suddenly clutched it and told me she crocheted it when she was twelve years old. I then tried to lure her out of the living room with the promise of breakfast and a cup of tea in the kitchen. As she tried to stand up, she farted on my duvet.

I helped her up and she went to the kitchen.

Dad entered the living room while I was folding my duvet. He was looking for a lighter. He told me that I am disgusting and should stop farting.

I fished a can of deodorant out of a box and lifted my shirt up to spray under my arms and then sprayed the living room as well.

I need a place of my own. Soon.