My house is 1565 square feet. The lot is 8,000. I am just one person, rattling around in this huge house that looks like it’s been torn apart in an investigation. There’s dust everywhere. The whole house looks like it needs CPR. It got that way from both of us being too depressed to really take care of a house like this. The yard is a nightmare, so we’re doing what you do in Houston when you’ve gotten yourselves fucked with lawn care….. call in the Mexicans (YAY MEXICO!!!! I got my jersey.). Dana likes it when I’m here when we have Spanish speakers, because even though mine is a bit broken, I can usually get my point across. Dana does not even watch Dora the Explorer. When she was moving out, I told her to get on Duolingo and learn some fucking Spanish, because in this neighborhood, life is SO MUCH EASIER. Dana’s neighborhood is the same, so I believe it is essential. When we go to taquerias, she just lets me order unless there’s numbers. 🙂
I am not knocking Dana in the slightest. I recommend that if you’re going to live in a Hispanic neighborhood, learn the language. Stop it with your “in America, we speak English” bullshit. You have no idea what would happen if all the migrant workers were deported. Enjoy your eight dollars a pound tomatoes, dumbass. Strain your brain- Spanish is easier than English by a MILE. All the verbs have five conjugations, everything is spelled like it sounds, and Hispanics fall over when they realize that I can comprende. I know I’ve told this story before, but it’s apt here. I was in line at Fiesta and these women in front of me were making fun of my short hair, baseball cap, etc. I turned around and said, “soy blanca, no soy sordo.” That means, “I am a white girl, I am not deaf.” Their mouths dropped and I didn’t hear a peep out of them. Serves them right. Apparently the girl that looks like a boy has your number, bitches.
So, to get back on topic, this house needs tias all over the place, because three tias and a prima will use Fabuloso, and as Ralphie May says, “it gets out third world dirt.” Yes. Yes, it does. I like the purple stuff. In fact, I mopped the kitchen floor with it before I sat down to write this. Maybe that’s why I’m writing about it. I need to explain why I am so overwhelmed with the state of the house, because Dana did not clean a thing before she left, nor did she mow the yard. Now I am slowly getting to all of these things, but I am hoping that wisdom prevails. I can clean the hell out of a house. I am scared of lawn mowers. I have a very good reason for this. My grandfather ran over his foot once. I am the biggest motherfucking klutz in the entire world. That is the kind of thing that would happen to me. I would like to avoid it at all costs.
However, I am not lazy. I will do it if I have to. I just don’t want to. There’s a difference. Mostly because Dana has been saying that she was going to mow and every time she has time, it has been pouring down rain. Our lawn looks terrible for a somewhat valid reason, but I am getting tired of waiting for it to be done, and there are several things that intimidate me. First of all, weeds have taken over. I don’t know what to do. Do I mow them down or dig them out? We got the house because Dana likes to do this shit and I don’t. I am envious beyond belief that she has a tiny apartment that looks easy to take care of with no lawn maintenance whatsoever.
I gave up. I just called Dana in my most anxious, smallest place and said, “where are we with the lawn people? I need help. I cannot do ALL THIS on my own.” She promised to come over tomorrow and help. It feels nice to know that she just didn’t have time to clean and she’s coming back. I am sobbing as I write this, because I have just realized how empty my house feels. My entire world lives ten minutes away and I feel so alone, even though I’m not.
Actually, in a sense, I AM all alone. There is no one that can work their way out of this mess but me. I will be so glad when all of the work on the house is done, because then I won’t constantly be plagued by the anxiety that comes with dust bunnies on the floor and Diet Coke cans I’ve opened and put down somewhere and forgotten. This morning I found a sip of whiskey on the coffee table… I’d asked Dana for some of her Rebecca Creek, which she gladly gave me about 3/4 of a shot, because that’s all I asked for. I just wanted a taste…… apparently, because I put it down and forgot about it, too. I am the classic creative personality. Someone should just follow me around picking up all the things I put down, because I promise I will not remember where I put it even five seconds later.
Based on this, I have no idea where anything is. The Danabase moved out. I am going to have to create my own systems of organization, which as a Virgo makes my skin buzz with excitement. Cut to three weeks later. What system? Unfortunately for Dana, I think it made her want to stay around longer than she should’ve. I put so much on her because I literally couldn’t do it for myself. I slid so far that she would have to bring me stuff to eat, because if she didn’t, I just wouldn’t. Too busy, too consumed. Not an eating disorder. A thinking disorder. If I take time out to eat, what am I missing? Ditto for sleeping occasionally, although I have medication for that.
I just realized that I have anti-anxiety medication. Maybe that should be my first move. Feeling a little bit short of breath, which is a sign that I need to take something before I get into attack mode. When I get panic attacks, the hyperventilation is pretty fucking impressive. I don’t want to live there.
But in this type situation, I am not sure that it’s avoidable.
Stories That Are All True 