Panic room.

So my Dad has turned this house even more into a prison that it used to be. See, the landlord let himself in the other day, with prior warning to us by way of letter, to install new smoke alarms. When Dad realised what had happened, he was suddenly incensed that someone has been in our flat without either of us being there to keep a watchful eye, and for a few days he frantically looked for something to be missing, simply to accuse our landlord of theft. Which he promptly did; apparently he'd 'lost' a six-thousand dollar ring, and he went to the police and filed a report. Eventually our landlord found out about the allegations and that only worsened the relations between my dad and the owner, who we've known for at least fifteen years.

Now my Dad's changed the locks and DIY installed a dodgy alarm on our front door, which I thought was a modest move, considering. You know, if it cures him of his delusional paranoia, then it's all good; all you've got to do is stick the code in to arm the alarm and then stick the code in again to disarm it. Easy. But today when I came home, the alarm went off and I shat myself. He's rigged it so that it goes off WHENEVER THE DOOR OPENS, whether it's armed or not. No normal person rigs an alarm like that. Like, ohmigod.

Fucking ridiculous. It defeats the purpose of having an alarm if it goes off regularly, i.e. boy crying wolf. So everytime I leave in the morning, everytime I come home of an afternoon or evening, and more importantly everytime I sneak out of this damned hole of hell, this ruddy electronic screech cuts through the whole block of flats. I think it's crazy enough that at my age, I've still got to sneak out. Bah! I can't live here. Last straw.


Listening to:
Title: Panic Room
Artist: Paul Mac
Album/station: Panic Room (2005)
Length: 3.39