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Wednesday, Aug. 07, 2002 / 11:40 a.m. ~Frustrated I�m this close to eating out of boredom. I�m this close to striking up a conversation with Lulu, on any topic at all. I simply cannot come in to work every day, five days a week, for weeks on end, months on end, and now when it�s this slow, do nothing. I need to move. I need to talk. I need to be active. I stood at the copier earlier, looking out the window at some people cleaning out a storage locker at the storage facility next door. It looked tedious, what they were doing, separating the trash from the good stuff, boxes everywhere. I stood looking, thinking, That needs to be me. I need to be cleaning out my storage locker. Right now. The weather has cleared. It�s 20 degrees cooler, maybe 30. It�s so nice outside. Inside it smells funny. I want to open a window, but they don�t open, these windows. It smells like something toxic, something industrial, something that will take years off my life. I should inhale deeply. Get this shit over with. I need to be cleaning. Sorting. Throwing things away. It�s one of those times, they come around every so often, when I hate my possessions, I want to be rid of all of it, start fresh. Where did it all come from? How is it that it multiplies? What is it all? Why don�t I clean? My apartment has five years worth of muck, dust, grime, hair, etc., everywhere and it�s making me sick. Sick of me for letting it get that way. The garbage disposal is broken, the sink began to clog. I had to dig the plunger out from under the bathroom sink. I don�t plunge. But I have one. I had to plunge last night, just to wash the fucking dishes. Piles of dishes. So many I didn�t even finish. I had to plunge three separate times. There were huge soft barnacles of goosh in the drain, all attached to the sides near the rubber protector thingie, atttached like soft goosh to the side of a boat, like barnacles, but soft, and I moved it aside with my hands! What was I thinking? I simply wanted it GONE. I pushed it down the drain, it clogged again, I was determined, but I had no appetite when I was done. And I saw the cat hair and dust accumulated back by the wall, between the fridge and the cabinets and I almost started crying. What is wrong with me? Maintenance. The bane of my existence. The one thing I hate more than anything else in this life. Why can�t we clean once? Get it all looking really good. Leave it. Why must things �accumulate� all around? Why do things attach themselves to other things, parasites on a host? Ricotta cheese-like soft barnacle-like goosh in the inside of my kitchen sink drain. Why? Because it all kept backing up over and over, and it never slid back down? 20 minutes at a time without a phone call. I�m reduced to writing about the goosh in my kitchen sink drain. Reduced to calling Mark at work to describe it all to him, knowing if I dial his number my phone will ring. The same way my father would light up a cigarette if we were in a restaurant waiting for our food to arrive. �Pop, don�t smoke!�, �If I light this one up they�ll bring us our food�. He was usually right. This is my mood. I want to clean it all, throw it all away, big piles of it. Get rid of everything and scrub behind it. Under it. All the places I skip. And I want to get rid of my computer, I�m tired of trying to communicate with online people. They�re not real. Arguments on message boards, flame wars, what�s the point? I can�t relate to them, I can�t relate to anyone. I can�t even stand watching TV anymore. A commercial starts and I groan with displeasure. I have to change the channel, or leave the room. I don�t have the patience for it. I don�t want to watch movies. I just want to sit in a clean, empty room. And look out the window at the trees outside. I�m intensely frustrated. Everything bothers me. My hair falling out in long strands everywhere. My shirt smelling like sweat, freshly washed in �sweat-scent� Cheer. What�s up with that shit? This is such a drastic change from yesterday. My own mood swings baffle and annoy me. I want to be constant. Just a content oblivious person, not feeling anything, not thinking, just coming in to my little office job, going home and cleaning my apartment, cooking dinner, playing with my cats, and taking road trips on weekends. Must be a chemical imbalance. Reminds me of the time Dave and I were splitting up and I was packing the kitchen. I sank to my knees on the floor, saying I just couldn�t pack all those pots and pans, sort through it all, figure out what was his and what was mine, it was too much, I just couldn�t do it, I freaked out, I had a collapse, a nervous breakdown, and Dave came in and calmly packed it all up in big boxes. While I sat and watched. I was good at watching. At delegating. Sometimes I think I was destined for Royalty. I need servants. I need a handmaiden. I�m not cut out for cleaning, for maintenance, for clearing the soft ricotta cheese barnacles out of drains. And for the record, I haven�t had ricotta cheese in my kitchen since I made lasagna years ago. I told Mark I just need to move to a new apartment. My current one is going to need maintenance, all throughout. I�ve lived there too long. Five years is too long. Cost of the War in Iraq
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