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Frying Pan Or Fire?
Mar. 15th, 2019 07:58 pmThe kiddo and I have made art, and I have reloaded my postcard supply. This round has glitter on it. I normally hate glitter, but the way I see it, it is going to be the problem of the people I mail it to. I have sent seventeen postcards to seven different places since I got here, and I have no intention of stopping. At least some part of me can escape this hippie hellhole.
Unfortunately, home is not looking much better. While I was gone, my parents took all my furniture out of my room, broke a leg off my wardrobe, took apart my bedframe with a crowbar and destroyed it, threw away my pillow, ripped up the tiles on my floor to replace them, discovered dry rot behind the baseboards, tore a giant hole in the wall chasing the dry rot, tried to install curtains I didn't ask for, tried to convince me to buy a new bedframe from IKEA, and started repainting my room a new color. It's like "if you give a moose a cookie," except the story ends with "and then I came home and my bedroom was a pit of rubble." I'm not thrilled. This bullshit probably won't be grouted and painted and so on in the few days I have left here, and I guess I will be sleeping on the couch with my possessions scattered to the winds unless I agree to spend more time in Portlandia (I watched that show and did not laugh at all because it was too accurate). This is some hot bullshit.
Anyway, it's time for me to tackle Mount Dishmore and then feed the child.
Unfortunately, home is not looking much better. While I was gone, my parents took all my furniture out of my room, broke a leg off my wardrobe, took apart my bedframe with a crowbar and destroyed it, threw away my pillow, ripped up the tiles on my floor to replace them, discovered dry rot behind the baseboards, tore a giant hole in the wall chasing the dry rot, tried to install curtains I didn't ask for, tried to convince me to buy a new bedframe from IKEA, and started repainting my room a new color. It's like "if you give a moose a cookie," except the story ends with "and then I came home and my bedroom was a pit of rubble." I'm not thrilled. This bullshit probably won't be grouted and painted and so on in the few days I have left here, and I guess I will be sleeping on the couch with my possessions scattered to the winds unless I agree to spend more time in Portlandia (I watched that show and did not laugh at all because it was too accurate). This is some hot bullshit.
Anyway, it's time for me to tackle Mount Dishmore and then feed the child.
