Coming down to crunch time
So, pardon me if I seem like I always discuss the same ol' crap here, but I'm entering the world of private land ownership and we're coming down to the final week of independence.
Just to catch you up, I've lived, now, for 30 years without ever having to take responsibility for my living space.
As a child, I freely broke windows and destroyed carpeting with the warm assurance that, although my mom would be wicked pissed, I'd never face the prospect of paying to repair the harm I caused.
As a college student, I revelled in frat house living. Actually, I learned in my fraternity that "you don't call your fraternity a frat, just like you don't call your country your"...well...you know what I'm saying. So, ahem, sorry. I revelled in fraternity house living. There, although we engaged in a solid week of maintenance and renovation projects every year, and took turns doing chores, I didn't have to personally worry when the occasional sewer line broke (in the rich dumb kid's room, which was a bonus...) or when some drunken partier from the Sig house decided to shoot their potato gun at our house, breaking windows in our dining room.
In law school, we freely held raging parties at our apartment, in the assurance that although we may lose our cleaning deposit, we would not lose our freedom.
Even later, when common sense set back in, my landlord had to fear my living habits more than I did.
In my first three years of marriage, I've been blissfully free of repair work. I remember, last year, going to JLowe's relatively new home and watching him swear as he pulled improperly-disposed vegetable bits out of his drainpipe as water attempted to shoot back and drown him. All I thought was "thank God I'm not a home-owner." Thought the same when he had to replace his water heater. Or dig up the various disgusting fauna in his yard. Or tear out the carpeting besmirched by his crazy cats. And so on.
Now, though, I'm stepping into a new era. And I'm scared.
Anyway, it's this fear of responsibility which is causing me to shut down, mentally, and deny the truth as it approaches me like a Mack truck. And I'll live in this self-imposed denial that life is continuing in spite of me until sometime after October 3rd-ish.
And why am I telling you this?
Just so you won't be surprised if I'm a little sporadic and uninspired in my blogging. Probably just a lot of links and afterthoughts for the next couple of weeks. Wit and foolish stabs at brilliance will follow shortly after.
Thanks, all two of you, for your prayers and support. I'll see you on the other side.
Catch ya later.
Just to catch you up, I've lived, now, for 30 years without ever having to take responsibility for my living space.
As a child, I freely broke windows and destroyed carpeting with the warm assurance that, although my mom would be wicked pissed, I'd never face the prospect of paying to repair the harm I caused.
As a college student, I revelled in frat house living. Actually, I learned in my fraternity that "you don't call your fraternity a frat, just like you don't call your country your"...well...you know what I'm saying. So, ahem, sorry. I revelled in fraternity house living. There, although we engaged in a solid week of maintenance and renovation projects every year, and took turns doing chores, I didn't have to personally worry when the occasional sewer line broke (in the rich dumb kid's room, which was a bonus...) or when some drunken partier from the Sig house decided to shoot their potato gun at our house, breaking windows in our dining room.
In law school, we freely held raging parties at our apartment, in the assurance that although we may lose our cleaning deposit, we would not lose our freedom.
Even later, when common sense set back in, my landlord had to fear my living habits more than I did.
In my first three years of marriage, I've been blissfully free of repair work. I remember, last year, going to JLowe's relatively new home and watching him swear as he pulled improperly-disposed vegetable bits out of his drainpipe as water attempted to shoot back and drown him. All I thought was "thank God I'm not a home-owner." Thought the same when he had to replace his water heater. Or dig up the various disgusting fauna in his yard. Or tear out the carpeting besmirched by his crazy cats. And so on.
Now, though, I'm stepping into a new era. And I'm scared.
Anyway, it's this fear of responsibility which is causing me to shut down, mentally, and deny the truth as it approaches me like a Mack truck. And I'll live in this self-imposed denial that life is continuing in spite of me until sometime after October 3rd-ish.
And why am I telling you this?
Just so you won't be surprised if I'm a little sporadic and uninspired in my blogging. Probably just a lot of links and afterthoughts for the next couple of weeks. Wit and foolish stabs at brilliance will follow shortly after.
Thanks, all two of you, for your prayers and support. I'll see you on the other side.
Catch ya later.
posted by Rusty at 10:40 PM
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