I’ve signed a contract and moved into my new place. The cat is cowering in the closet, terrified, and there’s no internet access yet, so I’m still posting from the library, but we’re headed toward a new improved normal. Still gotta find an income somehow, but soon I’m hoping to bring back daily entries on this page.
APRIL 14, 2022
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Slumber parties, unwanted by me but beloved by Mom, continued at my sister’s house every night until I said adios. Which is mostly *why* I was in a hurry to say adios.
The routine, most nights, was that Katrina would turn in first, leaving me and Mom in the living room, and then Mom would simply never go to bed.
“I’m going to sleep now,” I’d say after a few hours of TV blaring at me, though I’d occasionally complain and ask her to turn the TV down or off. As I tried to sleep, she’d keep sitting there. It’s hard to sleep when your mother is asleep beside you, or at least it sure is for me, because she was reading the newspaper (crinkle crinkle) or reading the Bible (because she talks to God, out loud) or watching TV. Sometimes, if I asked extra nice, she’d watch TV with the sound off and subtitles on, but it still kept me awake, because she’d laugh and talk back to the screen.
Mom always being in the recliner beside my recliner, waking me up, into the evening hours every evening, was weird. My boundaries require more than ten feet of clearance, and call me nuts, but i prefer sleeping in a different room than my mother.
Nightly, I explained to her that she was keeping me awake, but she simply didn’t care. Her response always boiled down to either, “I’m just so happy to have you here, I can’t go to bed and leave you alone in the living room,” or, “This is my living room, and I’m not going anywhere.”
We argued about it, but she’s right, it’s her living room, so I didn’t argue much. I simply spent about half of every night in my car — until midnight, at which time I could come back inside and she’d probably have gone to bed. Or if she was still there in her chair, at least she’d be asleep.
When I told my mom and sister that I’d found a room and I’d be leaving the next day, Mom ‘misunderstood’ several times, telling (not asking) me I’d be staying with them until the first of the month.
No, mom, I’m not waiting until the first of the month. She began grasping the concept after my fifth or sixth explanation.”I’ll miss you so much,” she said.
“Well, I’ll still come ’round to say hello, and gather my mail,” I said. Everything from my old Wisconsin address is being forwarded to Katrina’s house.
After I said that, though, Mom told me several times that she was glad I’d be coming to get my mail every day. Where she got “every day” is a mystery, but I expect to drop by and gather my mail perhaps twice monthly. Perhaps only once monthly.
When she again expressed relief that I’d be staying until the first of the month (no no no), and I again explained that this was my last night in her living room, she said, “Well, when are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow morning,” I said. “Soon as I wake up, I’ll gather my possessions and be gone.”
“What time will that be?””I dunno,” I said. “I’m usually awake by six or so.”
And how is it, after all these years, that I don’t see these things coming?
So for my last night, she stayed in the living room, and I slept in my car until midnight, before coming back inside to sleep a little more comfortably in the recliner.
When I woke up at 5:30 or so, showered, dressed, and started gathering my belongings, my mother’s alarm clock sounded off in her bedroom at 5:55 AM. Mom never gets up that early — she was waking up to see me off, which could potentially eat the entire morning.
Instead I doubled my pace, rushing my blankets, dirty clothes, cat food, Doug food, magazines, and everything else into my car, warming the engine, then darting back into the living room to get my computer and the book I’m reading.
Over the sound of Mom’s approaching footsteps, I scurried out of the house with my second and final armload, jogged across the front porch, got into the car, and spun just a bit of gravel as I’m certain Mom was stepping onto the front porch to chase me down. It was my Steve McQueen moment from The Great Escape.
Love ya, Mom, but for almost two weeks you’ve intentionally kept me from getting a good night’s sleep. I am not giving you any of me this morning.
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My new house is a mess of slightly crooked and creaking floors, rickety stairs, smelly and stained carpet, and electric outlets that don’t work, so my room is 50% powered by an extension cord from the kitchen.
The flatmates, though, seem like decent people. There are eight of us, but I’ll only be interacting with the three on my floor, and two of them are older than me, despite my being pretty damned old.
The location sucks. It’s in a southish, westish Seattle neighborhood where I’ve never lived, but my lifelong impression is that it’s boring. It seems to be a town-sized collection of strip malls and rickety houses, built from the 1940s to the 2020s, and more are under construction. There’s nothing but houses nearby — no diners, no shops, no library branch — but the bus service is good, and can quickly take me to a subway station, a big transfer center, or directly downtown, so I won’t be quite as isolated as the neighborhood looks.
My room is compact, maybe the smallest space I’ve ever lived in, even smaller than rooms in a rez hotel. I’ve ordered a new recliner (arrival: Sunday) and table (arrival: Friday) and lamp (arrival: tomorrow), and everything else, to replace all the minimal possessions I left behind in Wisconsin.
It’s a corner room, windows on two walls, and the house is atop a small hill, so there’s a nice view of the houses below (as if I’ll be looking out the window or something). The hilltop setting, with my room higher than the neighbors’ houses, means I can walk around naked or masturbate without worrying about being seen.
Give me a few weeks and maybe I’ll hate it, but today I’m a happy old dude. This is the only part of moving that I like — taking an empty space and making it mine, or trying to. I’m puttering all over town buying the little things I need, like curtain rods and a bar of soap and a padlock because my bedroom door doesn’t quite latch…
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And now, my internet history from yesterday, with no porn because there’s not much privacy at the library…
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David Mamet continues to be an unwiped asshole
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Starbucks barista challenges CEO Howard Schultz at airport meeting
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Situations like this have become all-too-common amid the podcast boom
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Stripping journalism for parts
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Murder charges to be dropped for Texas woman arrested over abortion
“In reviewing applicable Texas law, it is clear that Ms. Herrera cannot and should not be prosecuted for the allegation against her,” District Attorney Gocha Allen Ramirez wrote.
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Why do cats’ eyes glow in the dark?
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Oakland’s old Stork Club (had a beer there, twice!) is coming back
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One-word newscast, because it’s the same news every time…
• climate • climate
• cops • cops • cops • cops
• Republicans • Republicans • Republicans • Republicans • Republicans
• Trump
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Mystery links
— Like life itself, there’s no knowing where you’re going:
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The End
• Gilbert Gottfried
4/14/2022
Cranky Old Man is annoyed and complains and very occasionally offers a kindness, along with anything off the internet that’s made me smile or snarl. All opinions fresh from my ass. Top illustration by Jeff Meyer. Click any image to enlarge. Comments & conversations invited.
Tip ‘o the hat to All Hat No Cattle, Linden Arden, ye olde AVA, BoingBoing, Breakfast at Ralf’s, Captain Hampockets, CaptCreate’s Log, John the Basket, LiarTownUSA, Meme City, National Zero, Ran Prieur, Voenix Rising, and anyone else whose work I’ve stolen without saying thanks.
Extra special thanks to Becky Jo, Name Withheld, Dave S., and always Stephanie…
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