It's not me, it's you (but technically me)
Here's what having house guests mean to someone who, like a plant, needs lots of air and space to thrive: living in a constant state of fight or flight. It's exhausting. I'm knackered and tomorrow we're even set to have a house party. No escape. Can't even lock myself in the toilet or shut myself in the bedroom to have some alone time. Partly because it doesn't work and partly because too long an absence is rude.
It's been a week tomorrow, and today my throat has started to react the way it normally does after inadequate rest: by playing up. Not that I don't get enough sleep, because I do, realistically. Not that there are loads of stuff everywhere to drain my energy (which would be mum's guess if I brought it up). It's because there are people around 24/7, and I've never been particularly good with that.
Could go on about why I don't like parties or rather, hosting them, but communal coffee beckons. The other thing could always be a topic for tomorrow night when I need to retreat for a few minutes just to cope. Lest I become uncivil, which I've bordered on since around ... last Sunday, or at least Monday at the latest.
Fuck I'm glad not to have children at the moment. On the other hand, for once maybe if I did, they'd be out of my hair and in the loving, doting hair of a grandparent or two instead. Still, would only be for a week and that just wouldn't be enough.