Yet Another Attempt

Okay. I just got all my glasses packed away. Well, the ones that I want to keep. The remainder will be sent to Mama's place. Does it make me strange that I packed up a champagne flute with an engraved camel that I got from trading in Camel dollars (that's from cigarettes, ya'll)? How about shot glasses? Sorry. I've amused myself by carefully packing away a bunch of junk like it's fine crystal. Well, I guess it is to me, in a way.

Mama isn't here today. Now I can maybe get somewhere. I love Mama, but she's just been in the way. She's helping and doing her part, but Mama has an uncanny ability to ... well, be in the way. Yesterday she decided to clean out the hallway closet. For an hour and a half I couldn't get to any of the rooms I was working on because everything in the hallway closet was put into strategically placed plastic bags in the hallway. Between those, Mama's chair and Mama's body ... well, I could see the rooms I wanted to work on somewhere on the other side.

She screwed me up Tuesday, as well. And, well, yesterday, too. Hehe. On Tuesday a little after noon, Mama decided that it was absolutely imperative that we go to her apartment so that I could “get some things out of your (my) way.“ So I loaded up and moved Mama's computer desk, a television stand that she'd just bought, and we wandered over. I put together the computer desk, the tv stand (gods, I hate assembling furniture) and then spent about an hour trying to put up the new curtain rods (that she bought to replace the curtain rods that were already up in her apartment because they didn't suit her decor ambitions). About the time this wrapped up, Mama had cooked supper, and then I wound up watching some television.

In short, by the time I returned home Tuesday night, the little bit of sleep I'd had the night before was vapor. I came home realizing that all of Tuesday had been a bust. But Wednesday would be better, right?

Well, on Wednesday I needed some boxes. No biggie. I'd run over the U-Haul and hand them my credit card and thank them for fucking me yet again for charging me the standard rate for the boxes that their sign said were on sale. Mama asked me if I'd mind if she went with me. Well, no. Of course not. I had to stop into Circuit City to pick up some audio/video cables for Mama's DVD player and VCR, but how long could that take? Well ... Mama came in with me, and wound up looking at the flat panel computer monitors, the digital cameras, the plasma televisions ... you get the idea.

Anyway, we got out of there, stopped by U-Haul and got the boxes, and on the way back Mama said something that I was afraid I was going to hear. “Can we stop by Michael's?” That's a hobby store, if you don't know. Now picture this. I went into a store that has supplies for about every craft project you can imagine. Many craft projects that men cannot begin to fathom. And I went in there willingly, with a 73 year old woman. You get the idea.

When we got back home, Mama had the bright idea that I should come over to her apartment and finish putting up her curtain rods (I discovered in putting up the new hardware Tuesday that I had to repair some damage left behind by whoever took down the old curtain rod and hardware, and couldn't get supplies until Wednesday). Well, this was accomplished without much fuss, but then I had to wait for Mama to meticulously iron each curtain (it's a bay window, with three windows, and two rods in front of each window). I think I got home about 23:00. Hey. What happened to the day?

However it sounds, I didn't get mad at Mama. She tickles me. Whether it's coming across or not, everything I said above was written with a great deal of humor. But I'm kinda glad that Mama won't be over here today.

Mama isn't coming over because Mara is supposed to come over today. Mama doesn't want to be here. Not because she hates Mara, but I think Mama feels like she should hate Mara, and she struggles with it. So she'd rather just avoid the situation altogether.

Well, I just realized that while I'm sitting here writing about not making any progress, I'm not making any progress.

I'd just like to say that in my opinion it is wrong that the local city government will not allow me to burn this place to the ground. I don't so much want to burn the house down as I don't want to have to deal with all this stuff. Why is it so wrong that I'd like to create a great big bonfire and dance naked around it with my new friend, the bottle of dark Bacardi rum? I'm sure the lesbians next door would join in ...

Okay. 50 year old lesbians dancing naked around a burning house ...

:: shivers ::

I should get to work.