“I couldn't live a week without a private library
- indeed, I'd part with all my furniture and squat and sleep on the floor
before I'd let go of the 1500 or so books I possess.” ― H.P. Lovecraft

Whistling In The Graveyard: January 20, 2008

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

Post time again.

Yes, I'm beginning to have a bit of consistency. Don't count on it lasting too long.

So I've been cleaning my wreck of a goddamn house (seen in the last post) and trying to reclaim it from the garbage it's buried under.

I'm something of a pack rat. I get this from my mother. Mom has a three car garage at home and has to park outside. Every summer when I lived there I tried to clean out some space in the garage. To be honest I wasn't really cleaning it, I was making space to put some of my shit in there, but I WAS actually making headway. I'd get enough space cleared to walk from one end of the garage to the other and maybe swing a hammer without knocking shit over. The longest it ever lasted was three days.

To this day Mom will look me in the face and tell me I NEVER cleaned that garage.

I mention this, not to justify the mess I have here at home, but to begin to explain why I'm stuck here in this town I hate so much.

And I do hate this fucking town.

Parkersburg is a great place to live if you're dead. Which, for all intents and purposes, I have been for the last few years. I'm pretty much ready to begin life anew now though and the majority of the people I know have been urging me to move to Columbus. The rest of the people I know are just urging me to move out of my shithole of a house.

Both groups make damn good arguments.

I moved in here for two reasons. First, I needed a cheap place to live and this was available for just the cost of utilities. In hindsight, the cost of my share of the utilities here is more than my share of the rent was on the apartment I used to live in, but it seemed like a good idea at the fucking time..

Second, because it's my Grandma's house and she hated to leave it and didn't want to give the place up. She lived here for 53 years. She remembers it as a nice, warm house sitting in a good neighborhood. Time changes things a fucking LOT.

Anyways, she couldn't put insurance on the place if it was unoccupied and at that point in time she was still holding out hope that once her shoulder dislocation healed she could move back in. She was 96 at the time. She's 99 as of last October. It makes her happy to know that I'm here, in this place that she loves and still remembers as good, and I realize that at 99 years old I don't have a lot of time left in which to make her happy. So if I can make her happy just by occupying space (which believe-you-me I can do like a fucking rockstar) I kinda feel beholden to do so.

Now a lot of Grandma's stuff is still here in the house. She told me that if any of her old stuff was in my way to throw it out. If it was important she would have taken it with her. Mom doesn't share that goddamn opinion. Mom knows EVERY piece of junk that's in this house and the minute I throw something out she psychically knows to ask about it. If I can't produce the item I catch MOUNTAINS OF SHIT for it.

For instance, there was this old, rusty, metal cabinet here that grandma kept towels in. It was ugly and disgusting and I put it on the back porch to brush it down and repaint it. Maybe I could do something with it. That's the thought process that leads to my own junk collecting. And when I gather the shit I gather I always think “Hey, I can do something really cool with that.” And quite often I actually do make something cool, as you'll see in two future posts that I'm putting together, but I have a lot of shit sitting around waiting for it's 'moment'.

But yeah, back to the metal cabinet. It sits on the porch for a few days. Maybe months. Fuck, I don't know, but one day a strong wind slams it down right on the back steps and just obliterates it. First thought through my head is “Sweet! Now I don't have to walk around and/or fix that piece of shit.” I carry it out to the garbage, out it in the recycling bucket (it was made of steel after all) and that's that.

The day after garbage day, the fucking DAY after, Mom asks about this cabinet that she hasn't set eyes on in at least 20 years. I explain that it was trashed beyond repair and I threw it out. To this day she gives me shit for not fixing it.

I've mentioned before that Mom thinks I can fix anything. This is largely because I am super kick-ass and I can pull off some pretty bad-ass acts of genius from time to time. The unfortunate side effect of this is she thinks that anytime I tell her I CAN'T fix something it's just because I don't want to. Ok, true, sometimes that is the case. Sometimes she wants me to fix something that just isn't worth the time, effort or materials to fix, but sometimes I really CAN'T fix it. I hate it when there's something that I really can't fix because she'll keep asking about it and my main goal in life the last few years has been to just avoid as many hassles as possible.

This blog stands as a testament to just how fucking well that has worked.

So I've still got a bunch of Grandma's stuff here in the house which is about to go out to the garage (don't tell Mom), but I have a new problem. My sister keeps bringing in boxes of my stuff from Mom's house. Stuff I left behind because I had no room for it because of all Grandma's stuff I can't throw out.

I do love a good vicious circle, don't you?

And what gets me is the boxes are full of papers and other boxes, all stuff that I said it was ok to just throw out, but no, they have to bring it in here so I can throw it out. I had my den clean and She fucking FILLED it. So now I'm just throwing away a lot of shit. I like to recycle what I can, but there's just too much stuff. Besides, everyone gives me shit for recycling.

Yeah, you heard me. I try to recycle and people give me shit. I don't get it.

But in the middle of all the burying and digging and remodeling Mom wants me to drive out to her place and 'fix' her computer. Mom asks me to 'fix' her computer about twice a week. Her last complaint was that her Mah-Jongg game is pushed off to one side, so she needs a new computer. She has the best computer I could put together. The best except for the one I'm currently using anyway, but I need this one. The closest thing I do to work requires this one, so I ain't giving it up.

She tells me now that the computer is 'frozen'. She turns it on and the mouse pointer won't move.

Now you and I both know that I'm going to drive all the way the fuck out there just to plug her goddamn mouse back in and I'm a little too damn busy for that right now. I'm also too busy for the argument that will result from me telling Mom what the real problem is with her computer. HER. I can't goddamn fix that, you know?

Fuck, it's 4:30. I need sleep. I'll finish this tomorrow. If it has a finish anyways. I think I was steering toward a point here, but hell, fuck it now. Tomorrow we should have more remodeling goodness.

Stay tuned.

Oh wait, the point I was kinda driving for is that if I move two hours away it's not going to stop her wanting me to drive out and plug her mouse back in, I'll just have to drive a lot further to fucking do it. Distance isn't going to make her any less insane, it'll probably just make it worse, and I can't leave and let Mom drive the rest of the family insane because then I'll need them to commit me when I finally lose what's left of my fucking mind.

Awright, now I'm going to fucking bed.

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