Yesterday, I dog/house sat for a very good friend of mine while he and his new wife traveled to Pittsburgh for the night. It was an okay time; his dog is an awesome labrador/italian greyhound/jack russel terrier mix that is sweet, well tempered and extremely playful. Plus, his wife has one of the most impressive Goosebumps collections I've seen since the late 90's. You bet I was all over that. In the course of 24 hours, I read at least five of them. Not that that's any great feat or anything. Each one of those books is 150 pages, tops.
I trudged home at about 3:30 this afternoon to clean out all the junk in the basement. It smells like wet death down there. A bookcase full of catalogs and other remnants from my father's ill-fated business came crashing to the floor some months ago, they all got wet, nobody bothered to clean them up until today... I'm sure you know where that's going. In case you don't, two words: Black mold.
Healthy, right?
My family hasn't ever been the neat freak type. I think it's a habit we need to grow into though, me especially. My bedroom has been a consistent mess pretty much all my life. When I lived on my own, I usually kept things pretty clean. I had pride in my home, because it was mine. The dishes might pile up once in awhile and my roommate and I probably didn't vacuum as much as we should have, but overall it was a pretty respectable home. When my dad's business took a nose dive and funds ran short, I had to move back in with my parents. That was two and a half years ago. Ever since, I haven't cared much what my room looks like, and I couldn't really clean the rest of the house even if I'd wanted to, because it wasn't a simple matter of my stuff being out of order. There were piles of old mail all over the kitchen table and by the microwave, countless other things scattered everywhere that I had no idea what my parents wanted to do with... But maybe that's just an excuse for my laziness. I'm pretty good at excuses.
However true that may be(thanks for the grammar lesson, Emily), I don't want this to ever happen again. When we moved into this house, it was kind of a rushed affair. We just put things away as fast as we could. As I'm going through my old belongings, I'm doing a great purge. I want to take only the absolute essentials with me when we move. I'm taking a couple of boxes of things that have sentimental value, but only two. The majority of the boxes I've filled are nothing but books, movies and CDs. I'm getting rid of lots of old clothes; anything that I owned while still in high school goes straight to the trash or the bottom of the ferret cage. I guess what I'm getting at is I'm trying to cut my possessions in half. The less stuff I have, the less my new house can get cluttered up. Seems like sound logic to me.
But it's Saturday night and I'm in one of those states of mind where I'm absolutely torn by loneliness and a desire for solitude. I don't want to do anything really, but I also don't want to do nothing. Guess that's why I'm writing right now. I don't have much to say, but it gets rid of the loneliness a little. I'm talking to myself, essentially, only it doesn't feel like that so much.
Maybe I should reach out and try to actually talk to someone. Or maybe I should go work on the zombie movie some more. I should do anything at all, other than talk in circles here on this blog.
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