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boredom, at this point, is dragging me to the bottom as if i was bound with chains and thrown into the abyss. i'm guessing that this would be a good time for some linguistic mental stimulation. regardless of the fact that the past few days should have been "relaxing," considering not having the stresses of work to compound the force... in truth, my ass is dragging. it's been more than a month since all hell broke loose with nature... the trees are cycling through the color-wheel and just beginning to expose the skeleton-like armature that holds the whole thing up. except for this most welcome boost in warmth, it's taking on distinct autumn-like atmosphere. and still, my mother has made no move to get her roof fixed, before the snows come. hell, she only recently gave me the go-ahead to find parts to repair her flattened car. yet i still try to get the ball rolling, with phone numbers and suggestions. the excuse? "oh, i just don't have time. but don't tell me what to do." this woman hasn't had to work for over eight years. never leaves the house, except for groceries. has no social life, and repels any outside interruptions to her reverie... including attempts to help, from any who try. any such motion is met with skepticism and defensiveness... anyone who dares to break the stasis is the enemy. this now includes me. it would be easy to dismiss all of this to an aging personality, raging against the impeding final act... really, this has been going on for as long as i can remember. a few weeks of relative calm before the storm, triggering the huge thunderclap... this is how she works. this is also why i left the premises at an early point: living in an environment of constant negativity, walking on eggshells to not cause an outburst is certainly not living... ...it's crisis management. someone else's. telling, that no man had been able to withstand more than a couple of years, tops. i've tried to bridge the gap from afar. now, we are the only ones left from this stunted branch of the family tree... conscience tells me that i need to do the right thing, and help ease the pressures on this old woman. the venom is still strong with this one, though... enough to make me wonder if the very space she lives in will carry the echoes for all time. i may not believe in ghosts, per se, but i don't know if i could ever live in that house when her time is over. my stress-relief for all of this translates into prodigious alcohol intake, as in the case of Saturday. granted, this is a day of bacchanal, officially sanctioned... a once-a-year horserace/noblese oblige event. into my right hand was placed a glass three-quarters full of russian vodka, and a splash of tonic, for most of the afternoon. and evening. chemistry and socializing saved me from being a sloppy casualty. this is no way to cope. i then turned to physical labor on Sunday... beating down the inevitable hangover with stripping our bedroom at home of the trim and the awful wallpaper-over-trailer-paneling before laying down a new coat of paint. you are most welcome, landlady. no, "relaxing" is a poor word in description. just think... if i'd followed my heart, i would be home, right now. and this may never have been written.
all hallow's eve |
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