Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Today, while my mom and I were moving furniture, I scrunched a possum's mummified skull. Besides how utterly unsettling and downright nasty this was and overlooking the fact that I can still feel it's little cranium cracking beneath my feet, it was rather a comedic moment. I nearly dropped the headboard I was carrying and i think my mom is still chortling over the squeal of disgust which escaped my lips. And no worries animal lovers, it had been dead for quite some time prior to me stepping on its head.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Making popcorn to help me eat away my financial woes. I hate being responsible sometimes. Every spare dime, nickel or dirty little penny I have seems to be sucked up by my bloody mortgage and I've been subsisting on potatoes and the random bag of vegetables my grandma gave me which mostly consists of cabbage. Who outside of Russia eats cabbage?? I don't know what the hell to even do with it. But at least now I have popcorn~which gives me some sort of nutrition I suppose. Oh yah~thanks for the butter mom. I stole it out of your fridge while you were in the shower.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Last night I went to my mom's to begin our annual immersion into the all famous Ivy Hill Halloween season. As typical, we decorated a little, drank alot and fell asleep in front of the fire. But it is safe to say fall has begun...my mom made an apple pie which reviled Aub's (A shocker! for those of you who know how she bakes=), I raked some leaves today and I saw a pumpkin at the grocery store which a little person could carve out and live in should they ever be in desperate need of edible shelter. Edgar bet me $5 bucks it wasn't real but I snorted at him. It might be a little hicky up here but people sure know how to grow their veggies.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
ForGive Me~for not calling, not writing, barely communicating at all. It's my passive and pathetic excuse at self defense. When I shout out "I'm fine! Really, I'm glad to be home!" it's a bit like pulling off a bandaid when you know full well your still bleeding. As you bear your teeth and show the world just how tough you are, you finally glance down to see blood dripping on your shoe.
Some latent genetic disorder has surfaced in me and unfortunately it looks as if I have been susceptible and indeed caught, my mother's schizophrenic need to restore old victorian houses. I have torn apart my living room and my dear, sweet boy has hunkered down to help me. "HeY BaBy! Travel half way across the country, to a state where you don't know anyone, where neither of us has a job, move into a drafty old victorian house way to big for just the two of us and tear apart the only finished room in the entire house because I simply can't bear the teal leaf wallpaper any longer". "Ok HoNey," he says. I love this man.
It's funny how fucked up moving can make you. Things you used to hate-you suddenly miss. Things you couldn't wait to try have already lost their luster. Your stuck with a big empty house-full of crap you don't really need-desperately trying to find some minimum wage slave labor job just to hold on to it all. Is is even worth it?