Bum bum bum dee dee dee dooooodle. Poodle?
I'm going to update now. I haven't decided what I'm going to write yet but that's alright. It's going to be long, as long as I can make it, longer. I'm going to type tonight. I miss my typer, I miss my apartment, I have a ctscan on tuesday and then I'll be going home on amtrak- god damn amtrak. Fucking conductors stink. Like cheese. Disgusting stinky conductors. I'm not looking forward to it. FUCK. STINK. Who the fuck am I talking to? YOU. This is winding down, I can feel my brain getting squeaky. I learned how to whistle really loud today.
I kidded her about how I thought she would make a wonderful homemaker and she got the joke but didn't appreciate it too much I don't think. I mean how is a girl supposed to take a joke like that anyway? Byegones, I thought. While I was walking she was setting up the table on the porch where we would eat breakfast the next morning and where I would sit and read and drink beer and pet the dog in the evening. That whole day she was wearing that strange old fashioned blue strange gingham lace dress that really made her look like she put down homemaker in the occupation box on surveys and the like, her dark hair pinned up to keep it off her neck and out of the cleaning chemicals- still wearing yellow rubber gloves and holding a scrub brush she greeted me holding her hands up at her shoulders as if to say where have you been for so long you fool? She'd known where I'd gone but wore an indifferent expression that said if I didn't get to helping her unpack and organize and clean our new house then I'd be getting no affection from her on this particular hot summer evening no matter how well I put the bed together. I didn't want to clean and unpack and organize- I wanted to sit and smoke and drink beer and stare off into the west from the porch table. The sun was almost down. All that cleaning organizng unpacking nonsense could wait until tomorrow or the next day or the next. I guess it was all because of the homemaker joke coming off wrong, now she thought I wanted her to be... wifey. Christ. It was unforgiveable, that homemaker line. She wasn't a goddamned homemaker yet, in order to be one of those you have to have kids, which we didn't and hadn't discussed beyond the bedroom, between the sheets so to speak. Financial security health insurance and life insurance had been established by mostly by getting lucky and doing what's come naturally, as natural as working can be. Do children also come naturally? Maybe in a few years, I thought. As it turned out, there was already one on the way, but I had no knowledge of this. It would've ruined my state of mind. Definetely wouldn't have cracked any homemaker jokes then, though. Anyway, she'd known about it and was waiting till after we'd settled in to tell me, smart girl.
I was watching her clean for a minute before I sat down with my beer, standing in the doorway watching her wipe the goddamn baseboard with a paper towel. People move differently when they know you're watching. She moved slower, she was tired of cleaning. She probably did unconsciously but I was conscious of it and it made me shudder a little or I twitched. I don't like it when I know what's going to happen and what people are going to say before they do it so I sat down outside and she didn't get to say anything.
On the table: citronella candle in wavy glass vase, reflects setting sun like a lake, or it's supposed to- covered in citronella soot on the inside and a little dusty on the outside from sitting in my parent's garage for so many years. The table is constructed like a card table, galvanized metal legs powder coated flat brown fold out and under paralell to the edges. Top of the table is made of wood particle board covered in stained laminate. Dirty, black mildew stains in the corners and along the edges which are bordered with a layer of lined and cracking yellow plastic. The porch is a rectangle about 25 feet by ten. Floor is wooden painted light grey and is flaking away between the door and the stoop. The railings rise above the floor approximately two and a half feet and are about twelve inches thick, also painted grey, columns in the corners support the fifteen degree roof that attaches to the house 15 feet up the wall. Above that roof there is one rectangular window, the bedroom window. There are four rooms inside and a back stoop that attaches to the kitchen, which is attached to the dining room and living room through an arched hallway on the left side of which is a door leading to the bathroom. Living and dining rooms are separated only by a beam running a long the ceiling. All the iside rooms have the same creaky hardwood floors, stained maple, of course, maple goes with everything, I think. Don't have much taste for these things. The upstairs rooms' floors are stained walnut, which goes nicely with my dresser and my chest of droors, both in the bedroom, chest of droors under the window and the Dresser on the north wall opposite the bed, which hadn't been constructed yet, it was still in the box at the time, on the floor opposite the dresser. Flowered wallpaper in bedroom and adjacent bathroom. Striped in the guestroom across down the hall in front of the stairs, above the kitchen in back. It occurs to me that anyone staying in the guest room will have to go downstairs to get to a bathroom without coming into the main bedroom, and I may have to do something about the placement of the bathroom, doors, etc.
The sun had finally disappeared behind the horizon at the exact point where the gravel road disappears down the hill into the trees. It was a nice sunset, a sunset anyway. Most are nice. My beer was empty so I went in to check on her. She was in the kitchen, unpacking dishes, uwrapping them, hoisting the stacks into the cabinets, painted white. I suggested ordering chinese food. She said ok. We aggreed on assembling the bed together while we waited for the delivery man. And then I went out to the mailbox to check the address.
Stories that have no beginning middle or end, especially not an end. It's a phase, I've decided. It's really getting to me. Or maybe it's a rut. I'll decide later.
I kidded her about how I thought she would make a wonderful homemaker and she got the joke but didn't appreciate it too much I don't think. I mean how is a girl supposed to take a joke like that anyway? Byegones, I thought. While I was walking she was setting up the table on the porch where we would eat breakfast the next morning and where I would sit and read and drink beer and pet the dog in the evening. That whole day she was wearing that strange old fashioned blue strange gingham lace dress that really made her look like she put down homemaker in the occupation box on surveys and the like, her dark hair pinned up to keep it off her neck and out of the cleaning chemicals- still wearing yellow rubber gloves and holding a scrub brush she greeted me holding her hands up at her shoulders as if to say where have you been for so long you fool? She'd known where I'd gone but wore an indifferent expression that said if I didn't get to helping her unpack and organize and clean our new house then I'd be getting no affection from her on this particular hot summer evening no matter how well I put the bed together. I didn't want to clean and unpack and organize- I wanted to sit and smoke and drink beer and stare off into the west from the porch table. The sun was almost down. All that cleaning organizng unpacking nonsense could wait until tomorrow or the next day or the next. I guess it was all because of the homemaker joke coming off wrong, now she thought I wanted her to be... wifey. Christ. It was unforgiveable, that homemaker line. She wasn't a goddamned homemaker yet, in order to be one of those you have to have kids, which we didn't and hadn't discussed beyond the bedroom, between the sheets so to speak. Financial security health insurance and life insurance had been established by mostly by getting lucky and doing what's come naturally, as natural as working can be. Do children also come naturally? Maybe in a few years, I thought. As it turned out, there was already one on the way, but I had no knowledge of this. It would've ruined my state of mind. Definetely wouldn't have cracked any homemaker jokes then, though. Anyway, she'd known about it and was waiting till after we'd settled in to tell me, smart girl.
I was watching her clean for a minute before I sat down with my beer, standing in the doorway watching her wipe the goddamn baseboard with a paper towel. People move differently when they know you're watching. She moved slower, she was tired of cleaning. She probably did unconsciously but I was conscious of it and it made me shudder a little or I twitched. I don't like it when I know what's going to happen and what people are going to say before they do it so I sat down outside and she didn't get to say anything.
On the table: citronella candle in wavy glass vase, reflects setting sun like a lake, or it's supposed to- covered in citronella soot on the inside and a little dusty on the outside from sitting in my parent's garage for so many years. The table is constructed like a card table, galvanized metal legs powder coated flat brown fold out and under paralell to the edges. Top of the table is made of wood particle board covered in stained laminate. Dirty, black mildew stains in the corners and along the edges which are bordered with a layer of lined and cracking yellow plastic. The porch is a rectangle about 25 feet by ten. Floor is wooden painted light grey and is flaking away between the door and the stoop. The railings rise above the floor approximately two and a half feet and are about twelve inches thick, also painted grey, columns in the corners support the fifteen degree roof that attaches to the house 15 feet up the wall. Above that roof there is one rectangular window, the bedroom window. There are four rooms inside and a back stoop that attaches to the kitchen, which is attached to the dining room and living room through an arched hallway on the left side of which is a door leading to the bathroom. Living and dining rooms are separated only by a beam running a long the ceiling. All the iside rooms have the same creaky hardwood floors, stained maple, of course, maple goes with everything, I think. Don't have much taste for these things. The upstairs rooms' floors are stained walnut, which goes nicely with my dresser and my chest of droors, both in the bedroom, chest of droors under the window and the Dresser on the north wall opposite the bed, which hadn't been constructed yet, it was still in the box at the time, on the floor opposite the dresser. Flowered wallpaper in bedroom and adjacent bathroom. Striped in the guestroom across down the hall in front of the stairs, above the kitchen in back. It occurs to me that anyone staying in the guest room will have to go downstairs to get to a bathroom without coming into the main bedroom, and I may have to do something about the placement of the bathroom, doors, etc.
The sun had finally disappeared behind the horizon at the exact point where the gravel road disappears down the hill into the trees. It was a nice sunset, a sunset anyway. Most are nice. My beer was empty so I went in to check on her. She was in the kitchen, unpacking dishes, uwrapping them, hoisting the stacks into the cabinets, painted white. I suggested ordering chinese food. She said ok. We aggreed on assembling the bed together while we waited for the delivery man. And then I went out to the mailbox to check the address.
Stories that have no beginning middle or end, especially not an end. It's a phase, I've decided. It's really getting to me. Or maybe it's a rut. I'll decide later.