Your Soul's Been Bought, and You're Inwardly Crying

I sat down with my housemate to watch tv today, and she didn't even bat an eyelid at this quote: "George Clooney has been such a part of showbiz life for the past 30 years, it's hard to conceive of a time when he didn't exist."

I turned around expecting a glance in empathy at the ridiculousness, but nothing came. Have to get out. I've also had bad dreams about arguing with her, which presumably come from the distant thought of what could happen if I really told her what I thought of certain things sometimes, not that she's not nice, and I'd ever want to offend her. I'd love to help her. She's a loveless 34 year-old, a casualty of this culture, and through her I feel I'm constant witness to its ways and false dreams.

Then after this, back at the Clooney-fest, at the show-stopping quote of "a lot of people don't remember that George was married for a few years", I actually felt her associating herself with him through this hideous piece of hack television and comparing her life with his. Meanwhile her gay friend was arranging a date on the internet and cringing in a cliched camp fashion at the same time at the dreadfulness of it all. Where did it all go wrong? My housemate said she fancies Simon Cowell tonight too, whilst messing about talking to dickheads on match.com. Cowell is a spiritual paedophile. He commits dirty acts in the dreams of youth. My housemate is the essence of the respectable professional who funds his actions. If she had kids they'd be the next generation of male hairdressers. I can see the monster sprouting new branches all the time.

I love this house, but sometimes it dawns on me that I'm in the wrong place. Is anyone in the right place?