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No fish stories

SATURDAY — I was supposed to sell fish all day Saturday and Sunday, but after eight hours of sitting in the sun I'm always all sweaty and never have much energy left, so there wouldn't be much progress made on clearing the future-bedroom. And then on Monday I'm working at Black Sheets, and after that two of my brothers will be in town, and we're having dinner that night. 

For me that's a busy schedule, and it would leave only Tuesday and Wednesday for a mad rush to get the future-room empty, and then fill it with my stuff from the guest room and the boxes from San Francisco, before Sarah-Katherine arrives on Thursday.

And the room isn't the only thing that needs to be done. This whole house needs at least a light going over, just to vacuum the ubiquitous dog hairs and clear a few inches of table space in the kitchen.

Too much was happening, too much to do and too many worries, so I asked Jay and she let me take the weekend off from selling fish, and instead worked on clearing the room and moving into it. So no fish stories today, and thank you, Jay.

♦ ♦ ♦ 

Dropping everything of Judith's from the bedroom into boxes, taping them shut, and stacking them in the library, on Saturday afternoon I got my first real look at the rug in my room. I'd never want to walk on it — totally stained with cat shit and coffee spills and who knows what, tiny bugs crawling in the threads, and it was stuck to the floor not by nails but by decay, and it stank. It's garbage, so I rolled it up and dragged it out of the room, down the stairs, and left it rolled up behind the trash cans.

Technically, I should've gotten Judith's OK before junking it — it's her rug, after all — but she was sleeping, it's impossible to wake her, and I didn't try, because she might have wanted to keep it.

Now it's 3:30 on Saturday afternoon, and instead of selling fish and earning $5 an hour, I'm looking at an almost empty bedroom that stinks but it smells like victory.

There's dust and paper clips, bottle caps, pens, marbles, broken records and old plastic silverware and a billion other bits on the floor, everything that dropped off the rug when it was pried loose and carried away. I'm taking a ten-minute break to type this, and then I'll sweep, and after that the room will be as clean as it's ever going to be, before I move in and make it a mess again.

♦ ♦ ♦ 

Now it's 4:45, and the room's been swept, the windows opened for airing out, and I've unplugged my typewriter from the guest room and carried it in, and typed this sentence, which makes the new room officially mine.

Judith is still asleep, so I'll drag my futon in alone, because I'm sleeping in in the new bedroom tonight. Not sure I've ever been so dang tuckered as at this moment, and I'm going to sleep on that futon soon as it's dragged, and soon as I take a shower. 

♦ ♦ ♦ 

SUNDAY — I'm unpacked at last, and by golly, I live here.

From Pathetic Life #14
Saturday & Sunday, July 8-9, 1995

This is an entry retyped from an on-paper zine I wrote many years ago, called Pathetic Life. The opinions stated were my opinions then, but might not be my opinions now. Also, I said and did some disgusting things, so parental guidance is advised.

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