pg 5: I don't remember you

It's been a busy couple of days over here. Eric's still here, I'm getting over whatever anxiety I usually have and just living with it. Sure, I still sigh with resignation when I get downstairs in the morning to find the TV still on, but I get over it, get on with my life.

We cleaned up yesterday. One of the big projects mom wanted Eric to tackle was to re-paint a portion of the basement wall, behind the couch. See, 6 years ago, when we first moved in here (cripes, it's been that long -- and I had just started SWP then) Frank was living with us, and he was supposed to paint the basement all white. It was primed -- as some will know, primer is white -- by Eric, and then for whatever reason Frank decided "good enough" and didn't bother, despite the obvious patchiness on certain parts of the wall. Um yeah. Wonder why that guy's relationships never work out.

Anyway, it didn't really matter -- mostly it was behind the couch, where it was mostly unseen. But I think mom, knowing it was there, never really got it off her mind and finally got the wherewithal to get on with it. We we took on a pretty massive multi-phase project yesterday, first cleaning up the surrounding area, clearing away garbage and dust. Six years' accumulation of crap can be quite significant. This was followed by the physical moving of furniture and the painting itself. Then Eric called the paint prematurely dry after the first coat and put the couch back, getting paint on the back of the couch. Luckily it was latex, easy enough to wipe off the leather couch, especially before drying.

When I summarize it, it doesn't sound like a big deal, but trust me when I say this was a considerable undertaking. Six years with the attitude of "it's our place and we leave whatever we want wherever we leave it" leaves a lot of random crap -- papers, wrappers, small items -- in random places, even with Eric not living here for the last two of those.

Come to think of it, I've gotten so acclimated to him that I'll actually miss him when he's gone. Don't fuckin' tell him that, though.

Another task was to take an old washer-dryer set to the curb, which was not hard -- they were a small set -- but we noticed a raccoon nesting in our front yard tree, which freaked us out. Also, we were distracted by our creepy Eastern European neighbour insistently drawing our attention to it and offering us his broom to, uh, jab at it with. Um yeah.

Live and let live, man.

Beyond that, life is fine. Getting more ideas, and it won't be long before they bust through my self-denial of writing. I often feel self-conscious about writing when Eric's around, possibly because he's just over my shoulder, possibly because I'm distracted by the TV. I don't get a lot of peace and quiet in my life, except sometimes when I go on walks and decide not to listen to my iPod, and then I often end up muttering quietly to myself just so I can get whatever thoughts I'm having out into the air. I need syntax.

But yeah. Things are going okay. My work schedule is relaxed, and if it weren't for my occasional edginess at the company around the house, I'd probably feel bored more than anything. As it is, it's enough fun suppressing unwarranted aggravation. (That is to say I really shouldn't feel aggravated. But such is life.)

I think I'll tinker with a story before bed.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto