4 1/2 months away from my stuff...
I'm back in my Pennsylvania condo after 4 1/2 months of living in Ruskin, Florida in a small rented room. Coming through the door, I remembered the cluttered toybox of my Transformers, Hulk, and busty gal figures posed on the mantle and the six bookcases around the room. Bookcases taller than me, and full of graphic novels and manga. I haven't been in my cozy geek-cave since December.
Like the typical American, I love STUFF! I missed my STUFF, but I learned to appreciate a spartan room away from my possessions.
I had my Asus Eee PC 1000HE netbook and downloaded my XBox profile to my landlord's system, and watched TV on his Roku set-top box. Other than a weekly trip to the comic book store and jogging with a group of folks, I wasn't connected to any furries apart from once or twice a month. My stepmom had me volunteering once a week to take care of the cats at the local animal shelter, to keep me in line.
Since December, I was working for my 80-year-old father in his rundown realtor office, answering phones, and doing secreterial duties for people ordering a correspondence course for people studying for the State Exam to get their condo manager license. I revamped his website and doubled his customer traffic.
Especially during the two weeks that my overweight elderly dad was in the hospital recovering from a rough case of his congenital heart failure and acid reflux, the office was quiet with my getting art done in preparation for Morphicon that has has me as a guest May 12th to May 15th. That and playing Facebook games to pass the time.
When dad wasn't promising me a future of teaching me to get more comfortable dealing with people, getting my Realtor license and working for him, he had me typing up his poems. His poems range from mildly clever to annoying. Poems themselves are very private, but it was a way that my dad was communicating his feelings with me.
After his stay in the hospital and the two weeks of trained nurses coming over his place to really push him to exercise, he started to get increased stamina. Down to 278 from 300, he could get a lot farther on his three-wheeled walker than his cane. My stepmom was finally able to get him to come with me to their senior center wading pool where the water would make him feel light as a feather and we could walk and float through the water for a quarter mile easily. He even stopped asking me to get him Frosties from Wendy's which was the absolute biggest step toward getting better.
And then, as promised, I trekked back up north to work on selling my condo and settling affairs. I'm up here on the premise of hurrying back before he slips back into his old ways and melts back into his easy chair watching Fox News, refusing to retire.
On the path to wellness, I can see my dad living another 5 years. He has the motivation of wanting to stay alive to teach his son a lifetime of experience, having missed out on 30 years of my life, and wanting to make up for it everyday. In that desk job, I was earning $13.33 an hour, which was more than I ever did before, and it was just enough to get me to save a little each month. Dad still even had a couple real estate agents coming in to give Dad a 10% commission on their home sales a few times a month. The home-selling business was slow, but it wasn't dead.
Without me there, I'm positive that Dad will slip back into his old lazy ways and fall apart. But what about me? Do I want to be a realtor?
I've read a bit about it, and had to learn a bit about condo managing too. It doesn't seem tough. I think it could be something that I *could* do, No matter what, I would need to continue earning money to live. I know deep down, that I should continue trying to be an artist and get over my fears and hangups that have kept me from creating steadily for the last 8 years. Like anything, I believe if I put my heart into something, I'll be able to do it.
But in doing so, I will be timidly starting from scratch socially as I've had to do, apart from the furry fandom. I lived about 2 hours away from the Orlando furry world, but since I never really pushed to be social, it might as well have been 200 hours away. Among the gay jogging crowd I ran with once a week, I wasn't rich enough. Among the straight mundanes, I wasn't chatty enough. I let myself feel isolated and alone, and only felt comfortable when I was playing the City of Heroes MMO because at least my character was bettering herself in her fake life.
I'm back in PA until July, and I'm prepared to be mildly welcomed back among my friends and then chastised when I tell them I'm going back to the sad unfulfilled life I lived in Florida until my dad kicks the bucket, because it's a job, and probably the only one that will be HANDED to me in my life.
Like the typical American, I love STUFF! I missed my STUFF, but I learned to appreciate a spartan room away from my possessions.
I had my Asus Eee PC 1000HE netbook and downloaded my XBox profile to my landlord's system, and watched TV on his Roku set-top box. Other than a weekly trip to the comic book store and jogging with a group of folks, I wasn't connected to any furries apart from once or twice a month. My stepmom had me volunteering once a week to take care of the cats at the local animal shelter, to keep me in line.
Since December, I was working for my 80-year-old father in his rundown realtor office, answering phones, and doing secreterial duties for people ordering a correspondence course for people studying for the State Exam to get their condo manager license. I revamped his website and doubled his customer traffic.
Especially during the two weeks that my overweight elderly dad was in the hospital recovering from a rough case of his congenital heart failure and acid reflux, the office was quiet with my getting art done in preparation for Morphicon that has has me as a guest May 12th to May 15th. That and playing Facebook games to pass the time.
When dad wasn't promising me a future of teaching me to get more comfortable dealing with people, getting my Realtor license and working for him, he had me typing up his poems. His poems range from mildly clever to annoying. Poems themselves are very private, but it was a way that my dad was communicating his feelings with me.
After his stay in the hospital and the two weeks of trained nurses coming over his place to really push him to exercise, he started to get increased stamina. Down to 278 from 300, he could get a lot farther on his three-wheeled walker than his cane. My stepmom was finally able to get him to come with me to their senior center wading pool where the water would make him feel light as a feather and we could walk and float through the water for a quarter mile easily. He even stopped asking me to get him Frosties from Wendy's which was the absolute biggest step toward getting better.
And then, as promised, I trekked back up north to work on selling my condo and settling affairs. I'm up here on the premise of hurrying back before he slips back into his old ways and melts back into his easy chair watching Fox News, refusing to retire.
On the path to wellness, I can see my dad living another 5 years. He has the motivation of wanting to stay alive to teach his son a lifetime of experience, having missed out on 30 years of my life, and wanting to make up for it everyday. In that desk job, I was earning $13.33 an hour, which was more than I ever did before, and it was just enough to get me to save a little each month. Dad still even had a couple real estate agents coming in to give Dad a 10% commission on their home sales a few times a month. The home-selling business was slow, but it wasn't dead.
Without me there, I'm positive that Dad will slip back into his old lazy ways and fall apart. But what about me? Do I want to be a realtor?
I've read a bit about it, and had to learn a bit about condo managing too. It doesn't seem tough. I think it could be something that I *could* do, No matter what, I would need to continue earning money to live. I know deep down, that I should continue trying to be an artist and get over my fears and hangups that have kept me from creating steadily for the last 8 years. Like anything, I believe if I put my heart into something, I'll be able to do it.
But in doing so, I will be timidly starting from scratch socially as I've had to do, apart from the furry fandom. I lived about 2 hours away from the Orlando furry world, but since I never really pushed to be social, it might as well have been 200 hours away. Among the gay jogging crowd I ran with once a week, I wasn't rich enough. Among the straight mundanes, I wasn't chatty enough. I let myself feel isolated and alone, and only felt comfortable when I was playing the City of Heroes MMO because at least my character was bettering herself in her fake life.
I'm back in PA until July, and I'm prepared to be mildly welcomed back among my friends and then chastised when I tell them I'm going back to the sad unfulfilled life I lived in Florida until my dad kicks the bucket, because it's a job, and probably the only one that will be HANDED to me in my life.