Living With An Alien

I am doing what I normally do. My life is fairly routine to those observing me. I walk in the morning, I take care of my house, I work on my projects. I add an artistic touch, here and there. Yesterday, I restrung the lights on my trellis, after cleaning up the explosion of the hundreds blown up by an accurate electrical strike. There is nothing like slivers of glass nestled in the cracks of a brick walk-way. I finally hit on the amazingly brillant idea of the vacumn cleaner. Over and done with.
It is difficult to live with the alien. Quiet, then noisey when least expected... in a moment dedicated to something or someone else. Subtle, then voracious. Showing an appetite meant for consumption, with no care or concern for the menu. Clumsy in enthusiasm for taking the lead and dominating the current involvement and emotional climate. Convinced that what is current is only a distraction, technically unimportant. I feel like a parent trying to ignore the repetitive and needling question of a four year old. Tolerant on the first launch, irritated with the continued need to return to the subject. Clearly no response adequately answers the inquiry or soothes and quiets the psyche of the explorer.
This alien, now with me for an unspecified amount of time, has a life and a quest of its own. This, at five in the morning is like a bad roommate barreling around in the kitchen, drinking the final dreg of beer left in last night's can. Banging the dirty dishes around in the sink, not washing them, but moving them so there is room to brush one's teeth in the kitchen. And when that is done, turning around to say innocently, 'did I wake you?'

The vacumn cleaner is not going to work on this job.